


Spoils of Victory

by Rhode



Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: Alpha Erik Killmonger, Alpha T'Challa to Omega T'Challa, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Arranged Marriage, Cousin Incest, Crossdressing, Drama, Embarrassment, Fantasy Biology, Forced Crossdressing, Humiliation, Knotting Dildos, M/M, Mating Bond, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Kink, Non-Consensual Spanking, Omega T'Challa (Marvel), Public Claiming, Somnophilia, Spanking, consent under the influence of fantasy biology
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2019-08-26 13:39:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 18
Words: 33,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16682638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhode/pseuds/Rhode
Summary: Upon the realization of his imminent defeat, T'Challa could feel his body begin to change, preparing itself to be claimed by the winning alpha.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The rape scene is in this chapter. Not violent, more of a mutual noncon situation. As in, neither party wants it to happen, but Biology Made Then Do It. 
> 
> No other noncon for the rest of the fic.

 Erik's knee was digging painfully into his back as he bore all his weight down upon T'Challa, grinding T'Challa's face into the sharp rocks.

T'Challa could feel the terrifying sensation of his skin ripping, tearing. His own warm blood coursed down his cheeks, mixing into the icy cold water. Ripples of red spread outwards from where they were grappling, drawing horrified gasps from the crowd.

T'Challa struggled and thrashed about desperately, gasping for breath as he choked in the shallow waters of Warrior Falls. Dark spots were beginning to appear in front of his eyes, his vision darkening from the lack of oxygen and the blood loss.

It slowly began to dawn on T'Challa...

...he wasn't going to win this.

His cousin was much too strong. Fuelled by a lifetime of anger and hatred, distilled into a burning, murderous desire to rip T'Challa limb from limb. T'Challa might still have stood a chance against Erik if he had pressed his advantage at the beginning, after he'd drawn first blood. But something deep within T'Challa - pity? Horror, at the thought of becoming a kinslayer like his own father? - had stayed his hand, and Erik had wasted no time in taking advantage of T'Challa's weakness. _Erik_ certainly had no qualms about tearing T’Challa apart.

Upon the realization of his imminent defeat, T'Challa could feel his body begin to change, preparing itself to be claimed by the winning alpha.

Against his will, his muscles suddenly slackened and relaxed, his body stilling and becoming soft and pliant under Erik. The fight went out of his entire body.

His head fell forward, baring the soft skin of his neck to the rival alpha's fangs in a posture of complete submission.

The unprecedented feeling of slick gathering in his ass - something that he had never previously experienced, as an alpha.

_No!_

Horrified, T'Challa willed his lax muscles to just _move,_ but to his terror, he realized that his body just wouldn’t listen to him.

This was…

_Morphosis._

An alpha's instinctive biological response to being bested by a rival alpha. A _compatible_ rival alpha. This was Mother Nature's way of ensuring that the best alphas in peak physical health would not be wastefully killed in combat. An evolutionary adaptation that would trigger a change in dynamic from alpha to omega upon certain defeat by a compatible rival, in order to preserve the losing alpha’s genes and strengthen the species.

T'Challa had heard of this biological reaction before, although it was so rare as to be unprecedented in the thousand-year long history of the Challenge. He had never once imagined that this could possibly happen to him. T'Challa had gone into this fight with Erik expecting victory, or the release of death.

Not this. Never _this._

Erik was his cousin! How could they possibly be compatible mates?

Above him, Erik stilled, suddenly becoming aware of T’Challa’s unexpected change in scent. He looked down towards T'Challa, his eyes dark with wariness and hostility.

With a last-ditch effort of will, T'Challa raised his head up to meet Erik's eyes. He managed to choke out desperately, begging, even as his tears started to well up and spill over, “Cousin, no, please - try to fight it -”

Erik's eyes widened in disbelief and horrified realization. Unconsciously, he took a step back.

Then his irises flashed with a golden glow as his alpha instincts took control, and T'Challa's heart sank, knowing that it was all over.

With a deep growl, Erik yanked T'Challa up from his kneeling position, pulling T'Challa close to his chest. He nosed along the line of T'Challa's jaw, inhaling deeply to take in T'Challa's new scent.

Gasps of shock rose from the audience.

T'Challa suddenly recalled that they were being _watched._ His cheeks flushed in complete mortification and he tried with renewed vigor to push his cousin away for the final time. But if he couldn't even beat Erik with his full strength as an alpha, he was definitely no match for Erik now, in his current condition.

Erik ignored all of it - the scandalized shouts of dismay from the audience, T'Challa's squirming, T'Challa's desperate, kitten-weak shove against his chest.

“You're hurt,” Erik murmured, his voice deep and husky. He carefully licked the deep cut on T'Challa's cheek, lapping up the blood, the tears. “Poor omega… Don't cry. Let me take care of you.”

The press of Erik's warm, rough tongue against his stinging wound made T'Challa tremble, his heart rate spiking. _You did this to me!_ T'Challa wanted to scream, to thrash away from Erik's tight grip on his upper arms.

But already his mind was fading fast, becoming lost in a haze of heat and fevered pleasure as instinct took over.

_There was an alpha before him._

_A handsome alpha._

_An_ _unbonded_ _alpha._

T'Challa tilted his head back, sniffing the air. This alpha smelled _good._ Intoxicating. From his scent alone, T'Challa could tell at once that they were perfectly compatible. Here was an alpha who could give him strong, healthy cubs.

There was blood on the alpha's hands too. Fresh alpha blood. T'Challa could tell that he had defeated another challenging alpha very recently. Killed him, maybe? There was no other alpha in the vicinity.

_A strong alpha. Strong enough to fight off rival claimants for his omega. To protect me. To protect and defend our cubs._

T'Challa could feel a purr of satisfaction rising through his chest, matched by an answering rumble from the alpha. The alpha’s hands roamed over T'Challa's body, gentle and exploratory, stopping ever so often to soothe and caress the sore parts on his body where bruises were beginning to form.

T'Challa let himself melt into the gentle, comforting pets.

_Perfect._

_Caring. Strong. Protective._

_This alpha would be a worthy mate._

Warm, strong arms encircled T'Challa's pliant body. Every point where skin pressed against skin sent shocks of pleasure through him. His lips were claimed in a searing kiss, Erik coaxing his lips apart, his tongue exploring the inside of T'Challa's mouth.

T'Challa sighed into the kiss, permitting the alpha's wandering hands to reach lower and lower. He gasped and squirmed in the alpha's embrace as his hands reached down to cup and squeeze T'Challa's ass. It was very bold of this alpha, a stranger whose scent was so unfamiliar, to take these liberties without even courting T'Challa properly first - but this alpha was so perfect that T'Challa didn't feel like playing coy. Didn't even want to test him first, put him through his paces.

And the alpha's boldness was extremely flattering. Arousing. T'Challa preened under the attention, even as one of the alpha's fingers slipped between his cheeks and teased at the rim of his slick hole, making him shiver.

T'Challa decided to submit immediately, to let this alpha do whatever he wanted. More than that - to entice this alpha to bond with him immediately. It was the only way to lock him down for good.

He parted his thighs slightly to allow the alpha easier access, nuzzling and licking into the column of the alpha's neck as he did so. He was rewarded with a full-body shiver of pleasure from the alpha.

The strokes and caresses became more urgent, less controlled. T'Challa's wet shorts were peeled down in one swift motion, exposing him to the chilly air of Warrior Falls.

“On your knees,” the alpha ordered, his warm breath ghosting across the shell of T'Challa's ear.

T'Challa obeyed immediately, burning with eagerness to please his alpha as he dropped to his knees on the soft sandy bed of the Falls. He could sense the alpha getting into position behind him, maneuvering T'Challa with his hands on T'Challa's hips. T'Challa arched his back and spread his knees apart, presenting himself. Hot slick trickled down the insides of his spread thighs.

With a forward snap of his hips, the alpha entered him in one long, slow thrust.

The stretch was almost painful, and wholly unfamiliar. T'Challa keened, squirming and whimpering on the alpha's cock even as the alpha's fingers tightened on his hips. The burn was almost exquisite in its intensity, filling a deep, primal emptiness within T'Challa that he hadn't even known was there.

T'Challa clenched down, gasping, even as his instincts screamed at him to relax and welcome the alpha in. The sensation was just too much.

“Shhh,” the alpha soothed as he stilled, clearly concerned about T'Challa's obvious discomfort. “I know it hurts, baby. Try and open up for me.”

T'Challa squeezed his eyes shut, panting as the alpha began to roll his hips slightly, opening T'Challa up with slow, shallow thrusts. Each thrust sent stabs of pain mixed with shocking pleasure through him - pain which gradually faded as he got accustomed to the unfamiliar feeling of taking an alpha cock for the first time. More slick gushed from his hole, easing the entry of the alpha’s cock into a smooth, slippery slide from where they were joined as the alpha finally started to pound into him in earnest.

Breathless whimpers and wrecked moans fell from T'Challa's mouth, swallowed up by the crash of the waterfall. The alpha's hand on his cock was swift and sure as he jerked T'Challa off, even as his own thrusts started becoming more erratic and imprecise as his climax built.

“Ah - !”

T'Challa came with a cry, his cum spurting into the alpha's hand. Helplessly, he clenched down hard, pulsing around his alpha's cock, drawing a satisfied growl from him. A few final thrusts, and then T'Challa could feel his knot expanding with breathtaking speed, stretching him wide enough to make him see stars.

At the instant of climax, the alpha's golden fangs closed down on the exposed skin of T'Challa's submissively bared neck, piercing through his mating gland.

There was a sharp, sudden stab of pain that made T'Challa squirm in discomfort, soothed away instantly by the warm press of the alpha's rough tongue, licking and kissing over the shallow bite.

Then -

The psychic force of the mating bond slammed hard into T'Challa's mind, causing him to black out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for potentially upsetting content: T'Challa briefly contemplates suicide in this chapter. He doesn't act upon these thoughts, and it won't be brought up again.

“Everything is proceeding as it should,” Doctor Sabra said, perusing the medical chart projected in front of her. “The external changes are already complete, and the internal changes are well under way. You will experience some abdominal pain and cramping in the next few days, but the entire process should be complete within two or three days. The mating bond should also have settled by then.

“In the meantime, you may find yourself becoming more temperamental as you adjust to the new bond, and to the omega hormones flooding your body. You might experience some mood swings or food cravings too. All this will stop once the change is complete.”

“I understand. Thank you, Dr Sabra,” T'Challa said dully.

Dr Sabra, a kindly, middle-aged woman, was T'Challa's personal doctor who had been taking care of him since he was a child. After the disastrous Challenge, T'Challa had been delivered to the medical bay for Dr Sabra to fuss over and patch up. She had quickly and efficiently healed the physical injuries which T'Challa had sustained, but there was nothing that the doctor could do for what was truly causing T'Challa anguish.

_Bonded._

_Mated._

To his own cousin, no less. A vengeful, volatile murderer.

Unbidden, the memory of their bonding flashed through T'Challa's mind again. T'Challa face heated up with complete mortification as he remembered how he had spread his legs for his own cousin in front of the entire country, begging to be fucked.

T'Challa had never felt so humiliated in his life. He had lost everything in one single, awful day. His kingdom. His dignity. Even his body was no longer his own.

A wave of crushing despair swept over T'Challa. For a brief, horrible moment, he actually contemplated killing himself.

With an effort, he shoved that dark thought out of his mind. No matter how terrible he felt, he just couldn't do that to his mother and sister, not after witnessing their grief over his father's passing. T'Challa knew that they wouldn't be able to handle another loss so soon.

No. He would endure this humiliation. He had to.

Even as that thought passed through his mind like a dark cloud, T'Challa could sense his mate drawing close. Automatically, he tensed.

The mating bond allowed the bonded pair to sense each other's emotional state if they were in close enough proximity, although it didn't permit mind-reading. T'Challa gradually became aware of Erik's rage and frustration bubbling away at the back of his head, burning hotter and hotter as Erik drew nearer.

Anxiety clenched within T'Challa's chest. He knew that his mate was furious.

The door slammed open. Erik stood in the doorway, the Dora Milaje flanking him on either side.

Dr Sabra took one glance at the enraged alpha and wisely got up to leave.

“Wait,” Erik snapped, his voice taut with tension.

Dr Sabra hesitated, looking wary.

Erik jerked his thumb in T'Challa's direction. “Is he pregnant?” he demanded.

Dread made T'Challa's blood run ice-cold. He had not even considered this, although of course, now that he had become an omega, pregnancy was always a possibility if he slept with an alpha. Unlike betas, contraception did not work reliably on omegas. Despite the best efforts of Wakandan science and technology, the will of nature could not be denied.

But Dr Sabra was already shaking her head. “No, Your Highness. The change is still under way. The entire process is expected to last several days as the omega’s uterus and other organs develop. Your mate won't be able to carry any cubs until the change is completed.”

Erik's response was a deep and heartfelt sigh of relief. “Oh, thank _fuck.”_

Instantly, T'Challa's hackles rose. The fury that swept over him was deep, primal and wholly instinctive. How _dare_ his mate not want to have cubs with him?

 _“What did you just say?”_ T'Challa hissed in offended rage.

Erik's eyes widened. He raised his hands placatingly and said quickly, “Nah, baby, I didn't mean - ”

They froze, staring at each other.

T'Challa's logic gradually returned to him as his instinctive outrage dissipated, temporarily mollified by his alpha.

Of course he didn't want to be impregnated by his murderous cousin, under this farce of a bond. What had he been thinking?

“I didn't mean to say that,” T'Challa admitted, his cheeks flushing with shame. He couldn't believe that he had lost control of himself again so soon.

Erik scowled at him. “Same.”

He sank down into the chair that had just been vacated by Dr Sabra and waved for her to leave.

“This is so fucked up,” Erik said, his eyes briefly flashing gold with anger. “Bonded. Bonded to _you!_ What the fuck. Ten fucking years I been trying to kill you, and now this. I should've just snapped your neck before I lost my fucking mind. Bet you're happy now, huh? Cheating death?” Erik sneered.

“Happy? _Happy?_ Do you think I wanted any of this? To be bonded _, raped_ by my own cousin? In front of all my people? In front of my own mother and sister?! I'd rather be dead!” T'Challa shouted.

“I ain't gonna apologize for that,” Erik spat out. “You know it's not my fault. _You_ would have done the same thing to _me_ if I'd lost.”

T'Challa wanted to deny it, but he knew that it would have been a lie. The pull that he had felt to Erik once the change had begun had been completely irresistible.

Tears of frustrated anger welled up in T'Challa's eyes.

“Hey,” Erik said, sounding increasingly panicky. “Hey, don't - don't cry.”

But once the tears had started falling, T'Challa found that he simply couldn't stop. It was as if a dam had burst. All the feelings of anguish, rage and shame that he had been holding back seemed to flood out of him at once. Harsh sobs tore through his chest.

The Dora Milaje were all giving Erik dirty looks.

“Go to him,” Okoye hissed quietly.

T'Challa could sense Erik drawing closer. A hand pressed tentatively against the back of his head.

“Stop crying,” Erik said.

The brusqueness of his alpha's words just made T'Challa sob even harder.

“Oh, fuck… shhh. Shhh. I'm sorry, baby. I ain't mean any of that.” Erik's voice had softened into a gentle croon as his hands stroked through T'Challa's hair. “It's my fault, baby. I shouldn't have said all that. Don't cry.”

The rational part of T'Challa's mind knew that Erik truly hated him and wanted him dead. That Erik was just being compelled to say this to appease his mate, and that in this moment, Erik was as much a slave to biology as T'Challa himself. But the logical part of T'Challa was completely drowned out by his baser self, which just wanted comfort and affection from his alpha.

T'Challa couldn't stop a needy whine from escaping from his lips. Blindly, he turned towards Erik, reaching out and burying his face in the front of Erik's robe.

Erik put an arm around him, cuddling him close as he murmured soothing endearments.

“Shhh. My poor omega. I’m sorry. Don't cry, baby.”

The awful pressure was starting to lift from his head, his chest as he let Erik's gentle words wash over him. As T'Challa's mood gradually stabilized, lucidity started to return. He could tell the same change was happening to Erik too. Erik was suddenly stiffening, trying to pull away from T'Challa.

T'Challa jerked away, recoiling in horror. He felt his face heat up with embarrassment again.

“Dr Sabra said that I'd be temperamental and moody,” T'Challa said defensively.

“Yeah, I can fucking see that,” Erik muttered.

“I can't help it. She said I'd have mood swings until the change is complete. Maybe… would it be better if we just stay apart until this is over? I can't - when you're around, I can't help losing control.” It pained T'Challa to admit this, but he didn't want to lose control of his emotions again and put on yet another show of vulnerability in front of Erik.

“Yeah!” Erik said quickly. “Yeah, great idea.”

He leapt out of his seat and got up to leave. Then he paused, turning back to T'Challa as if something had just occurred to him.

There was a brief, awkward silence as Erik clenched his fists, a muscle working in his jaw.

“...Is there anything you want?” Erik ground out through gritted teeth, not meeting T'Challa's eyes.

T'Challa blinked, taken aback by this wholly unexpected, unprompted show of concern.

Realization struck. Erik's instinct to provide and protect would be especially intense during this period when they were newly bonded. Even as T'Challa found himself compelled by instinct to seek reassurance and comfort from his new alpha, Erik would equally be compelled to show that he could please his new mate.

As much as T'Challa disliked the idea of asking Erik for… anything, really, Erik was now his alpha and his king. He would have to get used to the situation.

T'Challa thought it over. “May I see my mother?” he asked.

Erik scowled. The bond didn't permit mind-reading, but T'Challa could guess what he was thinking. Erik despised his entire family and blamed them for his father's murder and his own abandonment. Ramonda, especially, had called Erik an interloper to his face and tried to deny his right to challenge for the throne.

But Ramonda was still his mate's mother. And it was difficult for an alpha to deny a reasonable request from his mate.

“Fine,” Erik said reluctantly, as if the word had been dragged out of him. “I'll send word for Ramonda and Shuri to be brought here.”

“Just my mother, please, for now. Not Shuri.” T'Challa couldn't bear to face Shuri just yet. He didn’t think that he’d be able to handle her tears and heartbreak.

“Whatever.” Erik shrugged.

“Promise me that you won't hurt my family,” T'Challa added.

“Fuck no. I'm not gonna make a dumb promise like that.”

“Erik, please! They're your family too.”

“Sure didn't treat me like family back then,” Erik sneered. “But now that I'm in charge, y'all suddenly wanna start playing that card?”

“It wasn't their fault! They didn't know. My father kept it all to himself. Even I only found out the truth after I became king.”

Erik didn't look convinced in the slightest.

Desperation rose within T'Challa. “Please. They're innocent. They had nothing to do with any of this. Please, I'll do anything you want.” Hot tears pricked at his eyes again. “Cousin. Alpha, _please.”_

It hurt T'Challa's pride to beg, but he was willing to throw his dignity away if it meant keeping his family safe.

Erik sighed and gritted his teeth again. “Alright, alright. Stop - stop crying. You're giving me a fucking headache. Look, I'll leave them alone as long as they don't make any moves against me. But I'm not gonna go out of my way to be _nice._ How ‘bout that?”

 _Thank Bast._ A wave of relief swept through T'Challa. He even managed a wan, watery smile at Erik.

Erik rubbed his temple with his fingers. “That better be it. Anything _else?”_

T'Challa hesitated. “Can I go back home now?” he asked.

Erik frowned. “You're already home. We're in Wakanda.”

“I mean, go back to where I live. Back to my quarters in the palace.”

“No,” Erik said immediately. “You're staying in the medical bay. The doctors are gonna keep an eye on you.”

“There's nothing they can do for me anyway,” T'Challa protested. “The process is just going to take its course.”

“It's safer here. What if there's a medical emergency? What if something goes wrong?”

“Nothing will go wrong. I don't like it here. I don't _feel -_ I want to go back.”

“No. And that's final.”

“But -”

“If you keep this up I'm gonna punish you,” Erik warned. “You want me to spank your ass?”

Tears welled up in T'Challa's eyes again, but this time Erik was completely unmoved. T'Challa could tell that Erik thought this was just a silly whim, but he was unable to explain the sudden, deep-seated urge to go _home._ And he didn't want to be punished by his alpha for asking again, like an unruly omega who needed to be disciplined.

“If I may -” Okoye said.

“What?” Erik said, rounding on her aggressively.

“Perhaps you should reconsider this, Your Highness,” Okoye said calmly. “An omega’s instinct is to draw close to his pack and his nest in times of need. This is what T'Challa is doing now. It's not just an unreasonable whim - he'll genuinely feel better if you let him go back.”

“I -” Erik broke off, giving T'Challa a conflicted sideways glance.

“The change will be hard on your omega’s body. He'll recuperate faster if he feels safe and secure, at home, surrounded by his pack,” Okoye prodded.

“…Oh, what the hell. Fine. You can go back.”

T'Challa's heart leapt.

Erik turned to Okoye. “You go with T'Challa. You, and three other guards. If anything happens to him, I'm gonna slit your throats,” Erik snapped.

Okoye was completely unfazed by Erik's threat. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“The doctor too. Make her stay with T'Challa until it's over.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Thank you,” T'Challa murmured. Something inside him uncoiled with deep, purring satisfaction.

Everything was _right_ now. Just as it ought to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos appreciated.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to momy9775 for her wonderful art of Chapter 2! [ https://twitter.com/momy9775/status/1069305187775406081](https://twitter.com/momy9775/status/1069305187775406081)
> 
> Warning: The following chapter contains hypothetical discussions of domestic abuse.

 

His room seemed… different, somehow.

The furnishings were all exactly as T'Challa had left them - the king-sized canopy bed, the large writing desk, the bookshelves stacked with books on everything from politics to history to pop fiction. (Even though Wakandan technology meant that he could read anything from his kimoyo bracelet, T’Challa still enjoyed the feeling of a solid book in his hands).

But still, something was different. Almost grating.

T’Challa sniffed the air, turning his head left and right.

Alpha pheromones, blanketing every corner of the room. It wasn’t an _unfamiliar_ smell - T’Challa knew, logically, that it was just his own pheromones from when he was an alpha, soaking into every corner of the room in which he’d lived for years.

But now that his dynamic had changed, the smell was just foreign enough to grate on his senses.

_The smell of an alpha, in his territory._

_Another alpha who wasn’t his mate… his mate wouldn’t be pleased…_

The thought made T’Challa’s hands curl into fists unconsciously, made his heart rate spike with anxiety.

T’Challa gritted his teeth and pushed that illogical worry out of his mind. The scent was irritating, but it would fade soon. He made a mental note to ask his servants to air out the room later.

T’Challa made his way across the room towards his bed, wanting nothing more than to burrow under the covers and pass out after this _nightmare_ of a day and succumb to the sweet oblivion of sleep.

Then, a thought suddenly struck him. He paused, turning to stand in front of his full-length wall mirror.

Tentatively, T'Challa reached up to undo the button of his robe. He tugged it down slowly, letting it slide off first one shoulder, then the other. The pants went next. He undid the fastenings and stepped out of them, letting them puddle on the floor.

Now naked, T'Challa stared at his new omega body in the mirror.

The changes were subtle, but still noticeable. His physique hadn’t changed that much, and for that he was immensely grateful. There semeed to be some loss of muscle mass in his upper torso, and he certainly _felt_ as if he were less quick, less strong. But T'Challa wasn't sure how much of that was due to losing the herb, or due to his new omega physique.

The most obvious change, though, was to his genitals. T'Challa's face heated up in shame as he palmed his soft cock, unable to tear his eyes away from his reflection in the mirror.

His cock was visibly smaller now, compared to before. The slight thickening at the base, which was supposed to inflate to full size when knotting an omega, had completely disappeared. His cock now felt strange and unfamiliar in his hand.

Experimentally, T'Challa stroked down the length of his cock, trying to estimate how long it was now. Five inches? Six?

T'Challa unconsciously bit his lip, his breath hitching slightly. His heartbeat suddenly started to rise as blood started to rush to his cock. He could feel himself beginning to get wet -

With a gasp, T'Challa abruptly let his hand fall away, his entire face flushing with shame. Even the tips of his ears felt hot. He hadn't expected to get aroused from _that._

T'Challa knew that omegas were extremely reactive, even more so than alphas or betas. Omegas would produce slick at the slightest bit of stimulation, to prepare themselves and ease the pain of taking a large alpha cock. In the past, he had enjoyed this aspect of his omega partners. Had mercilessly taken advantage of this to tease them, get them wet and panting for his cock.

But now, _he_ would be the one who -

Face hot with embarrassment, T'Challa quickly bent down and jerked his pants up over his neglected cock, deliberately ignoring the tingle that ran up his spine upon contact with the silky fabric. He hastily buttoned up his robe before turning towards the bed.

A sharp, sudden cramp suddenly struck him, making him almost double over. He gasped in pain, hand automatically coming up to rest on his stomach. For a moment, the only sound in the room was T'Challa's whimpers as he wrapped his arms around his midsection, fighting back the urge to scream.

Gritting his teeth, T'Challa staggered towards the bed. Internally, he cursed Bast, his ancestors, his evil cousin, and the entire chain of circumstances which had led up to this horrible situation, beginning from the first Council gathering which had come up with the horrible Challenge ritual a thousand years ago, right up to that terrible moment when he had recklessly accepted his cousin's challenge for the throne.

T'Challa collapsed onto his bed, panting for breath. He curled up tightly into a miserable little ball of stress and pain, hugging his knees to the chest.

T'Challa clenched his teeth, preparing to wait out the change.

It was agonizing.

The pain would gradually fade for few minutes, then strike back again with a vengeance, leaving him gasping for breath. In between cramps, the anticipation of each upcoming wave of pain filled him with dread. The cramp - relief cycle was somehow worse than it would have felt if it had been just been a constant ache.

T'Challa wasn't used to pain like this. In the past, the herb would have almost immediately healed any injuries that would cause this level of pain.

Briefly, T'Challa considered calling for the doctor. He had sent her to wait outside of his room earlier, disliking the presence of a stranger in his sanctuary. But he knew that there was nothing which she could do for him at the moment.

_How much longer was this torture going to last?_

T'Challa tried to recall what Dr Sabra had said just now. She hadn't been very definite about the time frame.

_A couple of days? That could mean anything from one to two days, right up to a week, in the worst-case scenario._

Another sharp cramp forced a small whimper from him, and tears began to burn in the corners of his eyes.

The primal, instinctive part of T'Challa was screaming at the back of his mind, craving relief, craving comfort. There was no way that he could make it through several days of this pain by himself. He badly regretted sending Erik away now. What was the point of protecting his pride, when Erik had already seen him at his lowest?

There was a knock on the door.

T'Challa hardly dared to believe it. Eagerly, he sat up and turned towards the door, hoping against hope…

T'Challa coughed to clear his throat. “Come in,” he called out, trying not to sound too pathetically eager. His voice came out hoarse and scratchy.

The door opened.

It wasn't Erik.

T'Challa's heart sank, but the initial flash of disappointment quickly faded when he realized who his visitor was.

“Mama,” T'Challa whispered. He suddenly felt as if he were a child again, sick in bed, waiting for his mother to comfort him and make it better.

Ramonda swept him up in a big hug. T'Challa buried his face in her shoulder, inhaling the soft, pleasing fragrance of her jasmine and pear scented perfume.

“Oh, my son,” she said sadly, running her fingers through his hair.

The anguish in her voice made T'Challa's heart break. “It's all right, Mother. I'm fine,” he assured her.

Ramonda did not look reassured. “Did he hurt you? Beat you?” she asked worriedly. She discreetly looked T'Challa over, checking him for injuries.

“No, he didn't! I'm fine, really. He was actually quite nice,” T'Challa admitted. But he understood his mother's fears. It was something that had been weighing on his own mind too. What was he going to do if Erik decided that he wanted to make life difficult for his omega?

Wakanda was, on the whole, a socially progressive country. Unlike certain countries where omegas were treated as nothing more than breeders, expected to settle down with an alpha and pop out babies as soon as they came into their first heat, omegas in Wakanda were granted the rights to education and to employment. Discrimination on the basis of dynamic was against the law, but when it came to domestic matters, Wakanda was still quite traditional. Alphas were permitted to discipline their omegas if they so wished, as long as they did not cause death or any permanent injury.

As a bonded omega, T'Challa would be expected to obey and submit to his alpha. Even his status as a prince would not be able to protect him if Erik truly intended to torment him. And T'Challa knew that there were many other ways that Erik could hurt him short of causing permanent damage.

T’Challa sighed. Back when he had been the king, omega rights reform had been an item on his agenda. However, it had taken a back seat to more pressing matters - the discovery of the stolen vibranium artifact and the sudden appearance of Ulysses Klaue, who had been laying low for decades. Now T’Challa desperately regretted not making it a top priority the moment that he had been crowned. Somehow, he had a feeling that Erik would not be too keen on the idea of improving omega rights.

Ramonda still did not look convinced, but she was putting on a brave face in front of T’Challa. “It’s all right, my son. I know it’s difficult for you, but just do your best to endure this for the moment. Your sister is working on a way to break the bond at this very moment.”

“Break the bond?”

“Yes, she started working on it right after you lost the Challenge. Don't lose hope. You know there are ways to break a bond - ”

T'Challa looked down at his hands in his lap. Slowly, he balled his hands into fists, steeling himself.

“Please ask her to stop,” he said quietly.

 _“Stop?”_ Ramonda asked in disbelief.

“Yes. I do not want to break my bond with Erik.”

Ramonda stared at T'Challa, her eyes wide with astonishment. T'Challa tried to explain himself.

“As his bondmate, I have some influence over Erik. Leverage. He will be compelled to take into account my feelings, my input, when making decisions. Erik is… not completely unreasonable. I've already managed to persuade him to leave you and Shuri alone. I do not like the idea of being bonded to him, but I have to do this, for the good of Wakanda.”

Ramonda shook her head. “T'Challa, you're making a mistake. You believe that you can change him? Don’t you know how many other omegas throughout history have fallen into this same trap, thinking that they can _change_ their alpha? It’s futile. A panther never changes its coat.”

“I have to try,” T'Challa said. “What's the alternative? To kill…?”

His voice broke on the last word. During the Challenge, he couldn't even bring himself to kill Erik, even knowing that the fate of the world was on the line. How could he possibly do so now?

“Perhaps this is the will of Bast,” T'Challa finally said. “A way to get us to work together, to resolve our differences without bloodshed.”

Ramonda scoffed. “Without bloodshed? T’Challa, he could really hurt you now,” she said worriedly. “A slip of the hand. A punishment that went too far… These things happen. He could kill you and then just cover it up. Even if people are suspicious, who would dare speak out against the king?”

“I'll be careful,” T'Challa said. “I'm willing to take the risk.”

Ramonda frowned. “You know, you're being really reckless about this. The new bond could be affecting your mind -”

“I'm not hormonal and I'm not crazy!” T'Challa protested. “I know what I'm doing. Erik is… the indulgent sort. I can tell. He didn't even get angry at me when I spoke back to him just now in front of the Dora Milaje.”

Ramonda gave up trying to persuade T'Challa. She sighed and hugged him tightly again. “Just be careful, T'Challa. Let me know immediately if he even dares to lay a hand on you.”

“Yes, Mother,” T'Challa promised.

The pain which had temporarily faded in the presence of _pack_ was starting to gnaw at the edges of his mind again. T'Challa leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes, trying not to focus on the pain.

“I think I'll try and sleep now,” he said.

Ramonda stroked his forehead gently. “I can stay with you for a while more.”

“Okay,” T'Challa murmured. “Love you, Mother.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! This fic isn’t abandoned, I’m still working on it :D

Erik leaned back on the vibranium throne and casually put a foot up, resting his arm on his knee.

Taking his seat on the throne of Wakanda as its rightful king was just as satisfying as he had always imagined. The walk up to the throne, the elders of each tribe individually approaching him and kneeling to swear loyalty to _King N’Jadaka -_ God, the rush. And the way the loyalists to the old regime had to swallow their pride and bow before the alpha who had claimed their precious T’Challa was just the icing on the cake.

Everything had gone just as he had planned.

Everything, except for the small matter of his cousin.

His new _mate._

Erik grimaced, trying to put that thought out of his mind. He motioned for W’Kabi to stay behind before dismissing the rest of the crowd who had gathered for the coronation and the swearing-in ceremony.

“Congratulations, Your Highness,” W’Kabi said to him, once they were alone.

Erik waved a hand at him. “Ah, Erik is fine,” he said casually. He got a kick out of his new title, but it was just good politics to let his allies treat him with more familiarity.

W’Kabi took a seat. “How’s T’Challa doing?” he asked.

Erik looked at him warily. From some of the comments that W'Kabi had made to him after he had first picked Erik up at the border, Erik had gathered that there was some sort of history - some sort of bad blood - between W'Kabi and T'Challa. He didn't know the full details of their relationship, but he got the impression that W'Kabi wasn’t on very good terms with T’Challa. Why else would he be so eager to help an outsider challenge for the throne?

“Why do you even care?” Erik asked, eyeing W’Kabi suspiciously. Was W’Kabi going to be a potential threat to his mate?

“We used to be close friends until quite recently,” W’Kabi admitted. “I hope this doesn’t come off the wrong way, but it was… uncomfortable… for me to watch what happened to T’Challa during the Challenge. It was very unexpected.”

Erik winced. “Don’t worry. He’s mostly fine. His body is still undergoing the change, so he’s resting. But emotionally, he might, uh, still be a little upset.” Erik’s mind flashed back to the uncomfortable memory of T’Challa shouting at him that _he’d rather be dead._ The abject shame and misery he had felt from T’Challa, radiating across their mental bond…

Erik gritted his teeth. “What happened between the two of you?” he asked W’Kabi, attempting to change the subject.

“T’Challa swore to me that he would kill Ulysses Klaue in revenge for the murder of my parents, or return him to Wakanda to face our justice. But in Busan, he deliberately chose not to kill Klaue when he had the chance. And then he was incompetent enough to let Klaue slip through his grasp.” W’Kabi’s facial expression was neutral, but the tone of his betrayed his deep bitterness.

Erik thought it over. W’Kabi’s desire for revenge was _extremely_ relatable, but still...

“Are you still mad at T’Challa?” he asked. “Look, I killed Klaue right after that, so everything worked out in the end. I want your word that you’re not going to make things difficult over this. You know I’ll be forced to defend T’Challa if you try anything funny. And I _really_ don’t want to have to defend him.”

W’Kabi shrugged. “Oh, I have no intention of doing so,” he assured Erik. “I don’t think our friendship will ever be what it once was, but given what has since transpired, I’m willing to let the matter rest.”

“Good,” Erik said, relaxing back against the throne.

“What about the plan to arm the outsiders?” W’Kabi asked. “I can inform the Mining Tribe to step up the production of vibranium weapons. It’ll take at least a month for sufficient weapons to be produced in the quantities that we need. We should start sooner rather than later.”

Erik sighed. “No. Put all of that on hold for now. I’m gonna have to make some modifications to it.”

W’Kabi seemed taken aback. “Why?”

Erik grimaced. “Because of T’Challa, of course. What do you think? He’s not gonna be happy when he hears about it. And this operation is gonna be too big to conceal.”

“Does that really matter? You’re his alpha now. His king,” W’Kabi pointed out. “He’s supposed to listen to you.”

Erik rolled his eyes. “You know T’Challa better than I do. You really think he’s the type to just shut up and do what I say?”

“Well, no,” W’Kabi conceded. “You’ve already beaten him once, though. If he tries to go against you -”

“I’m not going to be able to fight him,” Erik admitted. “It’s this damn bond. I can’t hurt him. I couldn’t even hurt his fucking _feelings_ just now.”

“Mmmm,” W’Kabi said thoughtfully. “You know, there are ways to break the bond. The fastest way is to have another alpha supersede your claim -”

The growl that rose up through Erik’s chest was pure rage, pure possessiveness. _”No.”_

“Well, no alpha would voluntarily agree to that,” W’Kabi admitted. “Or you could simply fail to renew the bond during T’Challa’s next heat. In that case, the mating bond will expire naturally and you’ll be free to do as you wish.”

“Really?” Erik was surprised. “I’ve never heard of that happening before.”

“That’s because the instinct to bond with your omega again during heat is practically irresistible. But it’s still possible, in theory, to avoid doing it. It’s one of the proven methods of breaking a bond safely without the death of either partner,” W’Kabi said.

Erik cheered up immediately. “So I just have to wait for T’Challa to go into heat and then leave him the fuck alone? Great! But you know, his next heat could be months away. _Years_ away, even. Or it may never happen at all. Not all omegas go into heat. What if he’s one of those that don’t?”

W’Kabi shrugged.

Erik thought it over. “Is there some sort of medicine that I can make him take to trigger it early?”

W”Kabi shook his head. “Not that I know of. It can happen at any time, as long as the conditions are right. Plenty of food, water, resources… safety and security…”

Erik sighed. He had been hoping that there was some sort of Wakandan miracle drug that could solve all his problems. “Oh, what the hell. So I’m still stuck with T’Challa.”

“For the foreseeable future, yes,” W’Kabi confirmed. “As the king, there are steps that you will need to take to formalize your bond with him. The wedding -”

 _“Wedding?_ I need to marry T’Challa?”

W’Kabi blinked. “Of course. He’s your bond mate. It’s expected.”

Erik gritted his teeth. “What if I don’t want to do it?”

“It’s not advisable,” W’Kabi said, frowning. “There are already many people who view you as an outsider, and doing this will show a lack of respect for Wakanda’s traditions. People wouldn’t respect an alpha who doesn’t take responsibility for his mate. It will reflect badly on you, and also on T’Challa. Forming a bond prior to marriage is already quite unusual. I thought this was also the case in America?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” Erik said morosely.

W’Kabi continued, “You’ll also run into difficulties proving the legitimacy of your children’s claim to the throne -”

 _“Children?_ I’m not going to sleep with him again!” Erik said, disgusted. “We’re not going to have any children!”

W’Kabi looked politely sceptical. It was infuriating.

“Oh, what the hell,” Erik sighed. “This is just for appearance, right? Just a formality? I don’t have to -” he winced, “consummate the marriage?” 

“It’s expected that you will do so. But to be honest, nobody is going to check. They’ll take your word for it.”

“Oh, thank _fuck._ And how easy is it to get a divorce here?”

W’Kabi looked disapproving. “That’s not advisable. Doing so would reflect badly on you -”

“Okay, okay, fine, I got it,” Erik said hastily. “We’ll get married, and I’ll act happy about it. _Fuck.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clarification: W'Kabi isn't going to start a coup or anything in this fic. Watching the movie, I got the impression that his main reason for siding with Erik was his personal grudge, rather than any overwhelming desire to build a Wakandan empire. Like, W'Kabi would definitely be happy to see Wakanda take more control in the outside world, but he's not dead set on creating a Wakandan empire or on world domination - he was ultimately willing to surrender to Okoye when he saw the costs of the civil war. 
> 
> In this fic, he's already gotten what he really _really_ wanted - Klaue dead, and T'Challa 'punished' for his failure. So world domination can wait.
> 
> (The _real_ reason is that I just don't feel like writing about a coup/power struggle. Too much work, and I don't actually like writing about politics. I prefer writing about Erik and T'Challa's love life xD)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains offscreen suicide.

Erik gradually became aware of a tiny itch at the back of his mind. 

The itch intensified as he drew closer to the royal family's quarters in the palace. An uncomfortable grating presence, a strange intrusion in the back of his head. 

_ T'Challa.  _

Erik gritted his teeth in annoyance. He hadn't expected to see T'Challa again so soon, though he now realized that of  _ course _ the servants would have placed T'Challa in the same quarters as him. Great. 

Erik fought down his reflexive upswell of irritation at the thought of his cousin. He quickened his steps, eager to get back to  _ his _ quarters and kick T'Challa out so that he could sleep properly. It had been a very long and tiring day. 

But as Erik drew closer, he could sense T'Challa's emotions bleeding even more strongly across their shared mental bond, growing in intensity with each step that he took. 

_ Frustration. _

_ Exhaustion. _

_ Pain.  _

Something wasn't right.

A deep growl rose in Erik's chest, and his hands unconsciously clenched into fists. Adrenaline sparked through his nerves, heightening his aggression, his protectiveness. 

Erik made a beeline for the room at the end of the hall, knowing without needing to be told that his mate was behind those doors. He threw the doors open without bothering to knock. 

There was a soft, startled gasp from somewhere within the darkness. 

“Lights on!” Erik snapped.

A soft yellow light filled the room, illuminating a lavishly decorated room. Erik's attention immediately focused on the dark figure curled up on a ball on the centre of the large canopy bed.  

“T'Challa?”

Erik automatically pitched his voice low, keeping it soft and soothing as he approached the bed. 

T'Challa's mind was a screaming storm of fatigue and pain, but it quietened as Erik sat down on the edge of the bed. He rolled over to face Erik, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Erik? You came.” T'Challa’s voice was soft and confused, but he sounded relieved to see Erik here. Sweat was beaded on his brow, and he looked completely exhausted. Erik's heart clenched. 

“You all right? Why the fuck are you alone? I thought I told the doctor to stay with you. I'm gonna kill that bitch!”

“Don't!” T'Challa protested immediately, sounding distressed. “It's my fault. I asked her to leave. I…I just wanted to be alone.” 

“That was dumb,” Erik snapped. “You're not a doctor! What if something happened?”

“Dr Sabra said that I had already stabilized,” T'Challa protested. “I just wanted to get some sleep. I can't do that with another person hovering around me.”

That explanation still wasn't enough to satisfy Erik's overprotective side. “You know you should have asked me first.”

“I -” T'Challa sounded like he wanted to argue further, but then he paused and visibly restrained himself. “...I'm sorry, alpha,” T'Challa murmured, his eyes downcast. 

Erik took a deep breath to calm himself and then exhaled slowly. He really ought to discipline T’Challa for going against his express orders. If he wasn't firm with T'Challa from the beginning, T'Challa would just take advantage of it and try and push his boundaries… but T’Challa looked so pathetic right now that Erik didn't even have the heart to continue telling him off, much less kick him out of bed as Erik had originally intended.

“Forget it,” Erik muttered. “Where does it hurt?” 

“Stomach,” T'Challa admitted, through gritted teeth. 

“Pull up your robe.”

T'Challa blinked up at him in astonishment. Erik looked back expressionlessly and folded his arms across his chest, waiting for T'Challa to comply. 

Slowly, hesitantly, T'Challa tugged up the hem of his sleeping robe, revealing his firm, toned abdomen above the waistband of his pajama pants. 

Erik reached out and placed the flat of his palm against T'Challa's belly. His skin was warm and smooth, and a pleasant internal frisson ran up Erik's spine at the physical contact with his mate. Erik did his best to ignore it.

There was a sharp inhale of breath from T'Challa, before his eyelids slowly fluttered shut and the furrow on his brow smoothened out. 

Erik began to rub gentle circles against T'Challa's bare stomach. Gradually, he could feel T'Challa begin to relax under him, the tension in his body melting away. Their bond thrummed steadily at the back of Erik's mind, radiating contentment and satisfaction. 

Petting T'Challa was strangely satisfying. Erik almost,  _ almost _ let himself get caught up in it, before he came back to his senses. 

“Better?” he asked T'Challa. 

“Mmmm. Yes.” T'Challa sounded drowsy and sated, his voice an almost-purr. 

Erik yanked his hand back, then stood up abruptly, making his way to the other side of the bed. 

T'Challa's eyelids flew open. He sat up and turned to look at Erik, looking confused and somewhat annoyed. Displeasure filtered across his side of the mental bond. 

Erik determinedly ignored it all. He grabbed two pillows from the empty side of the bed, and a soft blanket which felt so silky in his hands that Erik knew immediately that it was probably made out of some ridiculous high-tech luxury fibre. Erik couldn't resist giving it a pat before tucking it under his arm. 

“What on earth are you doing?” T'Challa asked, frowning. 

“I thought you said you could only sleep alone?” Erik said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm gonna go sleep on the couch.”

“…You can stay,” T'Challa muttered. 

Erik shrugged. “Nah, it's fine. Really. I'm used to sleeping anywhere. You just go back to bed.”

T'Challa swallowed. “Erik. Please stay with me?”

They stared at each other for a moment. Erik scowled, internally weighing a lifetime of hatred and enmity towards his cousin against the instinctive desire to keep his sick mate company.

T'Challa widened his eyes appealingly at Erik. 

_ Damn it.  _

Instinct won out. Erik gritted his teeth and tossed his pillows and blanket back onto the bed. 

“Lights out,” Erik said brusquely.

The lights on the room dimmed, then flickered off. 

Erik got into bed gingerly, deliberately taking care not to make any physical contact with T'Challa. He sank back against the ridiculously soft bed, pulled the blanket up to his chest and closed his eyes. 

They lay together in silence for a few minutes. 

Just as Erik had relaxed enough to begin drifting off to sleep, T'Challa shifted and spoke up. “Erik?”

Erik stifled a sigh. He had really hoped that T'Challa would just go to bed instead of trying to have a heart-to-heart conversation with him.  “What?”

T'Challa chose his words carefully. “I know that neither of us expected this to happen. But now that we're bound to each other, we'll have to work together. You have been good to me so far. I appreciate it. In turn, I will strive to be a good omega and a dutiful husband to you.”

_ Yeah, right.  _

Erik's first reaction was deep scepticism. It cost T'Challa nothing to make all sorts of promises now, but he  _ really _ doubted that T'Challa would be so submissive the minute that he was faced with an order which he didn't want to obey. 

Erik turned to face T'Challa and propped himself up on one elbow. In the dark, neither of them could see each other clearly, but he still leaned into T'Challa's personal space anyway, just close enough to be discomfiting. 

“So you want to be a good omega, huh?” Erik purred, voice silky. “You're gonna be  _ sweet _ and  _ respectful? _ Do whatever I tell you to do? Bend over and spread your legs whenever I want?”

T'Challa swallowed audibly. “I… Yes.” His voice wavered.

In the dark, Erik couldn't make out T'Challa's facial expression, but the fear and anxiety and that radiated across their mating bond was all too clear. 

Erik snorted. “You know I can tell what you're feeling, right? You're terrified. I don't expect you to be a  _ good, dutiful  _ omega - we both know that you're going to be horrible at that. Now stop bullshitting me and go to sleep.”

“Erik -” T'Challa protested. 

“Did you know that my father was an omega?”

The mention of Prince N'Jobu immediately shut T'Challa up. 

“No,” T'Challa finally admitted, after a long pause. “My father didn't talk about his brother much.”

“Yeah. Ma was the alpha, Dad was the omega. It's very unusual back in America, and omega men aren't treated very well there. Ma was the exception, though. Everyone used to joke that she really spoiled Dad. They loved each other so much. She killed herself the week after he was murdered. I never blamed her, though. She just couldn't live without her mate.” 

“...I'm sorry,” T'Challa said quietly, sounding wretched. 

“No, you're not,” Erik said. “Your father killed my parents. Ruined my life. But he just didn’t give a fuck. It’s the same with you. Back in the throne room, you already knew who I was, but you wanted to cover everything up. Just like your father.” 

“Erik, I’m so sorry,” T'Challa whispered, his voice breaking. “I should never have done that. I just… back then, I didn’t want to face the truth of what my father had done. I was afraid. You were right. I was hoping to speak to you and persuade you not to publicly pursue the matter, until you forced my hand before the council. I’m sorry. I was wrong.”

The infuriating thing was, Erik could tell that T'Challa meant it. Shame and guilt filled T'Challa's mind, echoing across the mental bond. 

Erik sighed, somewhat mollified by T'Challa's sincere contrition. “Look, stop fretting. Just go to bed. We’ll talk about this tomorrow morning.”

He turned away, putting his back towards T'Challa, and closed his eyes again. 

But sleep didn't come as easily this time. T'Challa was upset, and although he was trying to keep it quiet, Erik knew that he was holding back sobs. His guilt and distress grated in Erik's mind. 

Erik gritted his teeth and tried to ignore it. 

Minutes passed. Erik evened out his breathing and pretended to be asleep, but T'Challa  _ still _ wouldn't calm down. 

Finally, after a long period of suffering in silence, Erik gave up. He rolled over to face T'Challa again and slung his arm over T'Challa's shoulder, drawing him close so that his back was to Erik's chest. 

T'Challa froze in his embrace.

“Oh, just shut up,” Erik muttered into T'Challa's shoulder. “I  _ told _ you to stop fretting. You're driving me nuts. I can’t sleep if you’re going to carry on like this.”

“Erik -”

_ “Shhhh.” _

“Erik -”

“You're not well. Just get some rest.”

“Erik, I'm really sorry.”

“Okay, okay. I get it. I'm not that mad, okay? Now be quiet. Go to sleep.”

He tightened his arms around T'Challa, and T'Challa finally fell silent, the tension beginning to drain from his body. 

Erik closed his eyes. 


	6. Chapter 6

T'Challa awoke with a feeling of absolute bliss and contentment. He hadn't slept so well in a very long time.

He yawned, snuggling more deeply under his warm, fluffy blanket and shifting onto his side - 

\- and came face to face with Erik. 

_ Oh.  _

T'Challa inhaled sharply, eyes going wide with shock. 

Erik's eyes were closed in peaceful slumber. In sleep, his face looked surprisingly youthful and innocent under the soft golden light of the morning sun. His handsome features weren’t twisted into his perpetual angry scowl, and were instead relaxed and unguarded. 

T’Challa stiffened, temporarily disoriented. He was suddenly acutely aware of Erik’s legs entwined around his own, Erik’s arm wrapped casually around his waist. Erik was so close that T’Challa could feel the warm breath from each of his exhales tickling his cheek.

The events of yesterday came crashing back into his mind.

Losing the Challenge. 

Turning into an omega. 

_ Bonding with Erik - _

T'Challa flinched, his heart rate spiking in panic. Erik's eyelids fluttered briefly at T'Challa's jerk and T’Challa froze, hardly daring to breathe. He desperately prayed that Erik wouldn’t wake up - he was way too disconcerted to know what to say to him right now. 

Thankfully, Erik merely snuffled a little in his sleep. He drew T'Challa closer in towards himself, his arm tightening around T'Challa's waist before he settled down again, his breathing evening out. 

T'Challa winced, even as his new omega instincts purred in satisfaction at being held protectively within his mate's embrace. He didn't dare to imagine how badly Erik would react when he woke up to find himself cuddling with his enemy.

T'Challa held his breath and gingerly tried to disentangle himself from Erik's arms without waking him up. This was more difficult than he had anticipated - not only was Erik quite clingy, T'Challa also had to fight against his instincts at every step to talk himself out of curling back into the alpha's embrace and going back to sleep. He shoved the soft insistent tug towards Erik right to the very back of his mind, and somehow managed to squirm free from beneath Erik with an undignified little wriggle. 

T'Challa stepped into his fluffy bedroom slippers and then straightened up. To his surprise, he noted that the cramps from yesterday had almost completely disappeared. As much as he didn't like to admit it to himself, Erik's proximity had accelerated the transformation and reduced his pain. 

T'Challa gingerly made his way to the bathroom as quietly as he could, feeling relieved as Erik didn't even stir. He shut the bathroom door behind himself with a soft  _ snick. _

Almost on automatic, T'Challa began to strip out of his robe. He removed his slippers, stepped into the shower and turned the tap on. Hot water began to stream from the rain shower overhead at just the perfect temperature that he liked. 

T'Challa's mind drifted as the water trickled down his naked body. His conversation with Erik last night had been extremely enlightening. 

He had been half-insensate with pain yesterday after his mother had left, despairing over the thought of spending an entire night alone and suffering. Then, as if from a dream, Erik had appeared. T'Challa's heart had leapt upon seeing his mate, but then immediately sank in wary apprehension - what if Erik had decided to drop by just to torment him? 

But Erik had been unexpectedly nice to him. Comforting and even…  _ sweet _ . At first, T'Challa didn't understand why Erik had been treating him so well. Of course, the mating bond prevented Erik from doing any serious damage to him, but there were still many ways for Erik to torture him if he really wanted to be  _ creative  _ about it. But finding out that Erik's father had been an omega too explained a lot about Erik’s unexpected kindness. 

Male omegas were relatively rare, and outside of Wakanda, were usually held in even lower regard than female omegas. T'Challa had not known much about his uncle Prince N'Jobu at all, but learning that he had been an omega made the pieces fall into place. Erik must have seen the hardship that his father had faced back in America. It was a stroke of good fortune for T'Challa that Erik had a huge soft spot for omega men. 

Was it the hand of Bast at work, giving T'Challa some small measure of protection, even as she stripped away everything that he had known? 

T'Challa sighed. His fear and resentment towards his current circumstances lessened somewhat. He didn't really think that Erik would be violent towards him now. Mean, definitely. But not abusive or cruel. 

Probably not. 

“Yo. You done yet?” Erik called out from the bedroom. 

T'Challa stiffened. He hadn't expected Erik to wake up so early. It was barely even seven in the morning. 

“Your sister came,” Erik continued. “The princess is pissed. Get out here.”

“Yes, alpha.” The words, soft and submissive, slipped out of T'Challa's mouth before T'Challa could stop himself, an automatic response to the commanding tone in Erik's voice. T'Challa clapped a hand over his mouth, staring wide-eyed in dismay at his own reflection in the glass door of the shower. 

There was a pause, and then Erik snorted. “Just come out.”

T'Challa hastily shut off the shower and then grabbed a towel hanging from the rack. He quickly towelled himself dry, then froze, looking around. He had forgotten to bring a change of clothes into the bathroom. Usually, T’Challa would just walk out naked to change in his bedroom, but now that Erik was sharing the bedroom with him… 

Erik banged on the door, making T'Challa startle in surprise. “Hurry up!” he snapped. 

With no other choice, T'Challa wrapped the towel around loosely around his hips to protect his modesty and then stepped out of the bathroom. 

“Took you long enough -”

Erik's voice died off as he caught sight of T'Challa half-naked and still damp all over from his shower. His eyes widened. T'Challa quickly ducked his head, his face heating up with embarrassment, but he didn’t miss the way Erik swallowed during the moment when their eyes briefly met. 

“Sorry. I forgot to bring my clothes in with me,” T’Challa muttered, by way of explanation. He opened the door of the closet, then pulled out a simple robe, white silk-cotton weave patterned with embroidery of golden vibranium threads. It was his usual simple daily wear, but Erik raised an eyebrow at him. “What are you dressing up for?”

T'Challa avoided his gaze. “This? It's what I normally wear.”

Erik sighed. “Whatever. Just get dressed.”

T'Challa hesitated, unsure whether he should ask Erik to turn around. In the end, he decided against it. It wasn't like Erik hadn't seen it all already, anyway. And as much as T'Challa disliked it, he knew that any hangups he had about his modesty would have to be put aside. He might as well start getting used to this. 

Biting his lip, T'Challa let the towel fall from his hips. 

Erik didn't react visibly when T'Challa disrobed, but T'Challa got the strong impression that he was feeling just as awkward as T’Challa was. T'Challa quickly pulled the new robe over his shoulders, his heart beating fast. 

Erik did not offer to help him with the buttons. 

“Your sister’s in the next room. She’s your problem. I don't wanna deal with her,” Erik said.

“All right.” Shuri must have spoken to his mother after Ramonda she had left yesterday. T'Challa felt a pang of guilt at having gone out of his way to avoid her. She must have been worried sick about him. He was somewhat apprehensive about speaking with her, but surely it would be preferable to suffering through another conversation with Erik. Last night, Erik had offered to speak to him in the morning, but in the light of day, T'Challa found that he was suddenly at a loss for words. He was grateful for the brief distraction provided by Shuri showing up, even though the longer this dragged out, the more awkward things would become with Erik. 

T'Challa was very aware that he was running away from his problems. That didn’t reduce his desire to avoid Erik one bit. 

“Y'all can talk here. I’m going out. You stay here in bed,” Erik continued. 

“What? I'm feeling much better now. I think the transformation is already over,” T'Challa protested. He didn't want to be cooped up in his room all day. 

“So soon? I thought the doctor said that it would take a couple of days.”

T'Challa shrugged. He didn't want to share his theory that it had been Erik's presence that had made him get better so quickly. 

Erik eyed T'Challa assessingly. “You look like you still need more rest.”

“I slept all night! I'm fine now,” T'Challa said. Truth be told, he had slept much better yesterday than he had in ages. 

“You -”

Their argument was interrupted by a soft chime from Erik's kimoyo beads. Shuri's voice, panicky and outraged, projected from the room’s speaker, which was synced into the kimoyo bead system. 

“Where's my brother? I know he's in there with you! If I find out that anything’s happened to him, I swear to Bast -”

Erik thumbed his bracelet, his mouth twisting downward in irritation. Shuri's voice was abruptly cut off.

“You two are fucking irritating, you know that?"

T'Challa flinched at the harshness in his alpha's voice. Hurt bubbled up from deep within him. Completely irrational - T'Challa knew full well that Erik couldn't stand him. And yet, he still wasn't able to suppress it. 

“I -” Erik sighed. His voice softened at the look on T'Challa's face. “All right, just - just go and talk to your sister. You can leave if the doctor clears you first, but stay within the palace grounds.”

T'Challa's heart leapt. “Thank you,” he murmured. 

Erik couldn't leave the room fast enough. 


	7. Chapter 7

 

Shuri leapt into T'Challa's arms the moment that she caught sight of him. She squeezed her arms around him, hugging him tightly and burying her face into his chest. 

T'Challa kissed her lightly on the top of her head, feeling his heart clench. When Shuri finally pulled away, her eyes were wet. 

“How are you?” she asked shakily, brushing away her tears with the back of her hand. 

“I'm fine,” T'Challa assured her. “Don't worry, he didn't hurt me.”

A dark look crossed Shuri's face at the mention of Erik. But she fought back her anger, not wanting to put T'Challa in the difficult position of having to defend his mate against insults. 

“I'm sorry I didn't let you visit earlier,” T'Challa continued. “I wasn't feeling very well.”

“The Change, huh?” Shuri said sympathetically. “Is it over yet?”

“I think so. It didn’t take as long as I had expected.”

Shuri sniffed the air. “You don't really look all that different,” she observed. “Your scent changed, that's all.”

T’Challa looked down at himself. Shuri was right. His appearance and physique hadn’t really changed, which was a relief given that omegas were generally smaller and more slightly built than alphas. 

“Don’t get too used to this just yet,” Shuri said. “I've thought of something.” 

Her eyes shone bright with determination, and a very familiar expression came over her face. T'Challa recognized that look - it was the fervent look of excitement that Shuri always wore whenever she came up with a new scientific theory or experimental design.

T'Challa's heart leapt. He hadn’t even dared to let himself hope that there was a way out of this, but if anyone could think off something, it was Shuri. “Have you discovered how to change me back?” he asked excitedly.

“Well, no,” Shuri admitted, looking crestfallen. “The Change happened on a cellular level throughout your entire body. All my research has shown that the transformation is irreversible. But I wasn't talking about that! I've actually thought of a way to break your bond to Killmonger right away. And then you can kill him -”

_ “Kill  _ him? Shuri - ”

“I mean, um, put him on trial. Make him face justice!” Shuri backtracked hastily. “Anyway, you know that the mating bite has to be renewed during each heat, right? Or else it'll fade away?”

“Yes,” T'Challa said. “But heat is unpredictable, and not all omegas go into heat.”

Shuri grinned, looking extremely pleased with herself. “I'm working on a serum to trigger heat immediately. The idea came to me last night. If i can come up with a way to convince your body that the conditions are right - food, water, safety, a good alpha - we’ll be able to trigger your heat! Then you just have to hide from Erik for a couple of days until the bond decays naturally. You know, you might not even need to hide from him - I think Killmonger would probably be on board with all this. He definitely didn't seem happy to be bonded to you.

“The hardest part would be figuring out how to create a serum which is safe and effective without doing any practical experimentation at all. I obviously can't conduct human experiments, and you know that animals don't present like we do. But don't worry! I'm working on it.”

T'Challa looked down at his hands, conflict warring within his heart. Shuri's idea sounded entirely plausible. And given his sister’s capabilities, it was surely only a matter of time before she perfected it. 

“How far along is your research?” T'Challa asked. 

“It's still in the very preliminary stages,” Shuri said. “Just hold on. We’ll get rid of Killmonger soon, I promise.”

T’Challa bit his lip. “Shuri, can you hold off on the research for now?”

Whatever Shuri had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “What?”

“I’m trying to find a way to work together with Erik,” T'Challa explained. “He's… not so bad, really.”

Even as T'Challa was saying it, he could already tell that his sister wasn't going to accept that. Shuri looked aghast. “Have you forgotten what he’s  _ done?  _ He’s a merciless killer! You heard what Ross said about him! Killmonger is completely ruthless. You can't trust him. You can't work with him. He's probably plotting to kill you right now!"

T'Challa shook his head. "If he really wanted to hurt me, I'd know. The bond, remember? I can sense his feelings. He doesn't like me, but he doesn't want to kill me." 

"You want to stay bonded to an alpha who doesn't even  _ like _ you?" Shuri said in disbelief. 

T'Challa inhaled sharply. Shuri's words were like a stab to his heart, a stark reminder of the fact that his mate would be only too happy to be rid of him. T'Challa desperately tried to keep his expression neutral even as his chest clenched painfully. "That's beside the point. Of course it's… it’s not ideal, but I can live with it, for the sake of Wakanda’s future. The bond will give me some measure of leverage over Erik. If he continues to push for that crazy plan he brought up yesterday, I’ll have a better chance of talking him down as his mate than as his enemy."

Shuri folded her arms across her chest. “You know Killmonger has already gone to meet the Council?”

“What?” 

“He mentioned it just now when you were in the shower. He said they had called him for an urgent meeting. I didn’t really take notice of it then, but -” Shuri's voice trailed off.

T'Challa stood up quickly, alarmed. What if Erik was putting his plan into motion this very minute? He might already be too late to stop him. 

"I'm going to talk to them," T'Challa said urgently. He brushed past Shuri, calling out over his shoulder, "Don't do anything for now!"

Shuri made a noncommittal noise as T'Challa rushed out of the room.

 

* * *

 

Shuri frowned deeply as the door closed behind her brother. 

It hadn't escaped her notice how T'Challa's behaviour towards Killmonger had changed after the bonding. It pained her to think about it. She had expected T’Challa to be upset, or angry, or even frightened (though of course he would try to conceal it from her). What she had  _ not  _ expected was to find T’Challa making excuses for Killmonger, acting like the typical loyal omega defending his mate. 

How could her brother's attitude have changed so quickly? 

_ The bond must have messed with T'Challa's mind, _ Shuri decided.  _ Lowered his defences, confused him, blinded him to the clear and obvious danger posed by their cousin.  _

It was up to her to fix it, to save her brother and the country from certain doom.

Killing Killmonger while their mating bond was still active was out of the question. The trauma of the backlash when the bond was unexpectedly severed could cause irreparable psychic damage to T'Challa's mind. The bond had to be broken first before she could take any further action. Once the bond was broken, T'Challa would come to his senses and help her to get rid of Killmonger. 

She decided to ignore T'Challa's instructions,. Clearly he wasn't in his right mind. Her research had to take top priority now. Once she figured out a way to reliably induce heat in him, she could put her plans into action. 

Her mind made up, Shuri made her way down to the labs. 


	8. Chapter 8

T'Challa ran to the throne room as fast as he could, heedless of the curious stares from the people he passed by along the way. By the time he reached the throne room, he was panting and breathless, sweat beading on his brow. 

The Dora Milaje guarding the doors were two of his old friends, Ayo and Asha. They both looked surprised to see him.

T’Challa paused for a moment before them to let his breathing even out. His robes had become slightly rumpled during his mad dash to the throne room, and he hastily smoothed his hands over the front of his robes, trying to make himself look less dishevelled.

T’Challa inhaled deeply to calm himself, then faced them and drew himself up to his full height. 

“I’d like to enter, please,” T’Challa said, with as much calm dignity as he could muster. Dire visions floated through his mind, images of Erik issuing crazy orders to take over the world and killing anyone who vaguely annoyed him. 

Ayo and Asha looked at each other.

“The King didn’t say that no one else could enter,” Ayo pointed out.

Asha shrugged.

In unison, they moved the spears back to their sides. Ayo motioned for T’Challa to enter the throne room.

T'Challa was relieved - that had gone smoother than he had expected. But as he reached forward to push the doors open, a thought suddenly struck him. He froze outside the throne room, his palm flat against the heavy vibranium doors. 

It suddenly occurred to him that the last time the Elders had seen him, he had been on his hands and knees, getting fucked and claimed by his own cousin before the whole of Wakanda. 

T'Challa faltered, a flush of embarrassment flooding his cheeks. How could he even look anyone else in the face again, knowing that they would be undoubtedly be recalling his humiliation at the hands of his cousin? 

T’Challa gritted his teeth and fought back the upswell of shame and panic. He had to stop Erik from destroying the world. 

Taking a deep breath, he pushed the doors open.

 

* * *

 

All eyes turned to T'Challa as he entered the throne room.

Erik was sitting sprawled out on the throne, flanked on both sides by two rows of Dora Milaje and looking completely at home. He was surrounded by Council representatives from each of the tribes, all of whom were looking at T’Challa with varying degrees of surprise.

Erik straightened upright in his seat at the sight of T'Challa, a frown beginning to crease his brow. 

"T'Challa?" Erik said. "What are you doing here?" 

"I was wondering if I could sit in on the meeting," T'Challa said, as innocently as he could manage. 

Erik frowned, ignoring T’Challa’s request. "The doctor cleared you so fast? What exactly did she say?" 

_ Oh Bast. _

T'Challa swore internally to himself. In his rush to get to the throne room, he had completely forgotten about Erik's earlier instruction to have the doctor clear him before he could leave the room. He grasped for something to say, but just couldn't come up with a plausible excuse or explanation. And he couldn't very well confess in front of the entire council that he hadn't listened to his alpha. 

"I… " T'Challa began helplessly, his voice trailing off.  

Erik correctly interpreted T'Challa's stammering as disobedience. A spike of intense displeasure filtered across their mental bond - a red-hot flash of irritation that had T'Challa shivering unconsciously. The look on Erik's face promised dire consequences. It was all he could do not to cower instinctively in the face of his alpha's anger. 

A thrill of panic went up T'Challa's spine, making its way right to his heart. There was no way that Erik would just let this go. It wasn't that T'Challa was afraid of punishment  _ per se,  _ but if Erik saw fit to discipline him here,  _ right now, _ in front of all these people… He didn't think that he could bear the humiliation. Not after the very public way he had been turned and claimed during the Challenge.

He was suddenly acutely aware of all the eyes on him right now. Council Elders who had used to respect him, and those whom he had never managed to truly win over, all staring at him, waiting for Erik to decide what to do with his wayward omega. 

T'Challa's throat seized up as he looked pleadingly at Erik, hoping against hope that Erik wouldn't humiliate him too badly. Distantly, he noticed that his hands were trembling. He curled them into fists, nail digging sharply into his palms. But the trembling wouldn't stop. 

The dark expression on Erik's face softened just a little. 

"I didn't realise you were so eager to help out with the wedding planning," Erik said to T'Challa, with just the lightest bite of sarcasm tinging his voice. He motioned for T'Challa to take the empty seat on his right before turning back to the rest of the council. "Now where were we?"

The intense wave of relief that swept over T'Challa made his knees weak. He made his way over to the empty chair and sat down, his heartbeat still pounding hard. 

"Thank you," T’Challa murmured under his breath, his lips barely moving. Too soft to be within the range of normal human hearing, but he knew that Erik, with his senses enhanced by the heart-shaped herb, would be able to hear it. 

Erik pointedly ignored him. T’Challa could still sense of Erik’s anger in his mind, but already it was fading to irritation and then mild displeasure in response to T’Challa’s fear and distress. 

Unaware of the unspoken mental interaction between Erik and T’Challa, the Council's discussions had shifted back to the wedding preparations again. 

_ Wedding planning.  _

Of course. T'Challa's wedding to the new King was scheduled for this weekend, and that would have been the first item on the Council's agenda. A royal wedding would usually take months of preparation, but the unusual circumstances of their bonding would have necessitated a shotgun wedding.

Intensely relieved that Erik hadn't been doing anything more sinister than wedding planning, T'Challa took in a couple of shaky breaths, cautiously allowing himself to relax as his heart rate slowly returned to normal. 

"The centrepieces," Councillor Enjo of the River Tribe was saying to Erik. "The royal florists usually supply calla lilies for the centrepieces. But I'm pleased to inform you that our white water lilies are in season now. We have thousands of the most beautiful blooms, freshly plucked at dawn from the banks of the Amazon River. We would be honoured to present our water lilies for your consideration for the centrepieces -” 

"That's preposterous!" The elderly Councillor Olanda of the Merchant Tribe interrupted, looking outraged. "We've already placed orders for all the centrepieces! The calla lilies are an absolutely irreplaceable symbol of purity and fertility -" 

The argument continued on and on in the same vein, with no signs of stopping anytime soon. After ten minutes of this, T’Challa sneaked a glance at Erik. He appeared to be listening intently to the argument, but their mental bond gave T’Challa a sort of window into Erik’s mind - his emotional state, at least - and he could tell that Erik wasn’t paying attention. Boredom interspersed with occasional flashes of irritation filtered through their mental bond. Whether Erik's irritation was due to the ongoing argument between the Councillors, or whether it was because he was still annoyed by T'Challa's disobedience, T'Challa couldn't tell. The bond only allowed him to sense Erik's emotions, not read his thoughts. 

T'Challa frowned internally. It would be a complete waste of everyone’s time if the argument continued to drag on. After giving Erik one last glance, T'Challa decided to speak up. 

“If I may…” T’Challa began.

Both Councillors Enjo and Olanda turned to look at him. 

"I prefer the calla lilies," T'Challa said casually. 

The River Tribe was making a blatant power grab for the new King's favour. Of the four tribes who regularly participated in council meetings, the River Tribe representatives were always the ones who were most involved in politicking. When he had come of age as Crown Prince, his father had sat him down and taught him about the history, goals and relationships between all the major players from each tribe. He had explained to T'Challa that the King should be seen to be upright and impartial, not showing too much favour to any particular tribe, and had highlighted to T'Challa that the River Tribe in particular had historically always been eager to curry favour with the new King.

T’Challa knew that Erik couldn’t care less about centrepieces, but if he sided with the River Tribe over this issue to the detriment of the Merchant Tribe, which had a longstanding (and lucrative) arrangement with the Crown for the supply of goods, it had the potential to destabilise the delicate balance of power between the tribes. Whether Erik intended it or not, it would also send a very visible signal to everyone in attendance that the new King could be easily led. 

All eyes turned to Erik. 

Erik shrugged. "We'll go with the calla lilies."

T'Challa exhaled quietly, relieved and somewhat surprised that Erik had backed him up so readily. The River Tribe's representative appeared displeased, but he knew better than to continue protesting after the King had already made his decision. 

As the Council moved on the next item on the agenda, Erik narrowed his eyes at T'Challa. There was an indecipherable expression in his face. Across their mental bond, T’Challa could sense that his anger had mostly cooled, and his mood was quiet and contemplative. 

Throughout the rest of the meeting, Erik seemed content to let T'Challa handle the minutiae of the wedding plans. He would make the final decision, but more often than not, he would go along with T'Challa's suggestions. 

When the clock finally struck five, drawing the meeting to a close, T'Challa gave Erik a small, tentative smile, which Erik didn't return. 

Feeling inexplicably disappointed, T’Challa got up to leave with the rest of the Councillors, but at the last minute, Erik motioned for him to stay behind.

"Not so fast," Erik purred, stalking forward until he was right in front of T'Challa. There was a dark gleam of gold in his eyes, an intense alpha glow that had T’Challa’s heartbeat automatically speeding up. "Did you really think you were off the hook?" 

The deep clang of the doors shutting rang out through the throne room, leaving T’Challa alone with Erik. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters 9 and 10 don't really have much plot. If it's not your kink, you can skip them without missing much.
> 
> This chapter contains noncon spanking.

T'Challa backed up quickly as Erik stalked closer to him, right until his back was flat against the wall.

Nowhere else to run.

He froze in place, his heart hammering in his chest. _Alpha is angry,_ a small, horrified voice cried at the back of his mind. Disappointing an alpha - disappointing his _mate_ \- was the worst possible thing that an omega could do. Every instinct in T'Challa was screaming at him to beg for his alpha's forgiveness. Maybe even turn on the tears, see if he could tug on his alpha's heartstrings to get out of punishment -

 _Damn_ his new omega instincts. T'Challa cut off that train of thought, fighting back the unexpectedly powerful urge to bare his neck and drop to his knees. He wasn't going to beg Erik. He had more self-respect than that.

T'Challa did his best to look Erik right in the eyes without trembling, but the terrifying expression on Erik's face wasn't helping matters. Erik's eyes were gleaming a dark burnished gold. He bared his teeth at T'Challa in a snarl, revealing a flash of capped golden fangs.

It was incredibly intimidating. With effort, T'Challa just barely suppressed a flinch.

"You thought you could test me?" Erik's voice was soft and silky. Somehow, that was more terrifying than if he had shouted at T'Challa outright.

"Alpha - " was all T'Challa could say before his voice cracked. He stiffened, fully expecting Erik to hit him across the face, or worse.  

But to his surprise, Erik actually backed off. He took several steps backwards and folded his arms across his chest, still continuing to glare at T'Challa.

"Now, I don't wanna hear any complaints that I'm not being fair to you," Erik said. "So I'll give you one chance to explain yourself. Talk."

But what could he say? T’Challa couldn’t think of any excuses or explanations. The truth was, he had just plain forgotten about it. He had been so anxious to get to the throne room to ensure that Erik wasn't executing some sort of plot to take over the world that he had completely forgotten about Erik’s earlier instructions to him.  

Perhaps Erik would be appeased if he just apologized?

T’Challa swallowed. "I was in such a hurry to get here that I just forgot to see the doctor. That's all, I swear it. I wasn't testing you! Nothing like that." If Erik thought that he was deliberately pushing his boundaries, he would be in for it.

"You _forgot,_ huh?"

T'Challa winced. "Yes. I’m sorry. I was in a rush just now - I didn't want to be late for the Council meeting."

"You know you're no longer required to attend meetings? You're a consort. It's not really any of your business."

"Um..." T'Challa knew full well that he wasn't required to attend, but he wasn't about to let Erik run unchecked over the Council.

But Erik didn't look angry about it, merely thoughtful. After a moment, he said, "You can sit in if you like. Under my supervision."

"Yes, alpha," T'Challa murmured, pleasantly surprised that Erik was being so reasonable about it. He gave Erik a tentative but genuine smile. "I'll go to the doctor right away."

"Not so fast," Erik said. "Yesterday, when we were talking in the medical bay - what did I say I'd do if you didn't listen to me?"

T’Challa’s jaw dropped. He remembered exactly what Erik had threatened to do, but surely Erik wouldn't…?

But Erik wasn't saying anything. His arms were folded over his chest, and he seemed content to watch T'Challa squirm as he waited for T'Challa to answer.

The silence stretched.

T'Challa's mouth was completely dry. His tongue felt heavy and awkward within his mouth, as if he had completely forgotten how to use it. There was another long moment of silence, before T’Challa finally forced himself to speak up.

"...Spank me?" T'Challa said in a small voice.

"Bend over my lap," Erik ordered.

T'Challa panicked.

"Erik, no," he protested, feeling his cheeks grow warm with embarrassment. He put aside his initial resolution not to beg Erik for anything. "It's not necessary. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you. I won't do it again."

Even as he was saying this, he knew from the look on Erik's face that it was going to be futile.

"And I'm going to make sure of that," Erik said. He sat back down on the throne, spreading his legs wide as he did so and lounging back against the high vibranium seat.

“Get to it,” Erik said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.

T'Challa couldn't believe that this was happening to him. He had never been spanked before in his entire life. His parents weren't keen on corporal punishment, and besides, spanking just wasn't a punishment that was usually meted out to alpha children, much less the Crown Prince.

 _It could be worse,_ T’Challa told himself. He knew that Erik was being quite lenient with him. Erik could have stripped him, brutalised him, punished his disobedient omega with the vocal approval of the court - but somehow this punishment felt humiliating on an entirely different, visceral level.

T'Challa wavered, trying to decide whether he should try to push back again, or if he should just grit his teeth and bear it. So far, Erik had been quite amenable to most of his requests -

"Come _here."_ The stern command rang out through the throne room, startling T'Challa out of his thoughts.

As if on automatic, T'Challa found himself scrambling to obey his alpha's orders. Before he knew it, he was standing before Erik. Erik put a hand on his shoulder and pushed down hard, applying pressure to make T'Challa bend over.

Erik's lap was quite warm. This silly observation crossed T’Challa’s mind as he found himself being bent over across Erik's thighs. The floor was awfully close to his face from this angle. It was a precarious position. T'Challa was too tall to be spanked over someone's knee like a disobedient child, and he had to wriggle in Erik’s lap in an effort to stay balanced. He spread his legs apart so that he wouldn't topple over, and Erik placed a hand on the small of his back to keep him steady.

"Ass up," Erik said.

Blushing horribly, T'Challa complied. He pushed his hips back and his ass out, feeling the fabric of his pants tighten over his backside. It was an extremely vulnerable pose, one that would leave the sensitive skin on his buttocks completely exposed to Erik's hand to smack and punish. He wished that he had worn thicker pants today. If only he had put on his vibranium-weave formal trousers this morning. As it were, the thin silken fabric of his pants wouldn't offer him much protection.

T'Challa gulped as Erik smoothed his palm over his ass, right at the curve of his cheeks where his trousers felt the tightest. The entirety of T'Challa's attention narrowed down to that one particular spot which Erik was now idly patting, as if deciding how hard to spank him. His backside felt unusually oversensitive and exposed. He wondered if Erik was going to make him cry.

T'Challa tensed up in anxiety. "How many?"

"Until I think it's enough."

T'Challa could hear the damnable smirk in Erik's voice, feel Erik's smug satisfaction at having T'Challa completely at his mercy reflected across their mental bond. Without warning, a sharp smack landed across T'Challa's ass.

The sound of skin slapping against skin rang out around the throne room. Despite himself, T'Challa let out a soft, embarrassing little whimper. Stinging pain spread out from the area which Erik had just spanked, an intimate, shameful kind of pain that had T'Challa squirming almost immediately on Erik's lap in a reflexive but futile effort to escape, despite his initial resolve to bear the punishment with stoic dignity.

Thankfully, the initial shock of pain faded rather quickly - Erik simply wasn't spanking him very hard. What followed the first strike was more like a series of light, open-handed smacks rather than any serious beating. The type of corrective discipline typically meted out to a misbehaving child or omega - embarrassing and uncomfortable, but not excruciatingly painful.

That was a relief, at least, although T'Challa wasn't sure how much more of this he could take. On their own, none of the smacks were particularly harsh, but cumulatively, it was really starting to hurt. All of those spanks really added up.

Erik was now concentrating on the round, sensitive curve of his ass, slapping it over and over as T'Challa gasped and whimpered. He began to squirm miserably again as Erik's hand moved further down, delivering sharp slaps close to the tops of his thighs. The heat in T'Challa's ass was quickly threatening to become unbearable. It felt as if Erik had begun exerting much more force, or maybe it was just the predictable consequence of being smacked over and over on his already thoroughly-spanked ass. Either way, the next few swats stung badly enough that T'Challa felt tears beginning to well up in his eyes.

"Ahh!" T'Challa jerked forward at the next smack, his cock grinding across the tops of Erik's thighs. His cry trailed off into a pained, high-pitched whine.

Erik's hand stilled against his backside. "Too much?"

There was a soft brush across the back of T'Challa's mind as Erik reached out across the bond, attempting to gauge T'Challa's emotional state.

T'Challa threw his dignity aside and tried to project as much pain and distress as he could across the mating bond. He had been punished enough. He wanted his alpha to have mercy on him, to comfort and soothe away the ache and tell him that all was forgiven. He was never going to disobey his alpha again. T'Challa let a small, sniffling hitch creep into his breath to really sell it.

It seemed to work. Erik's hand soothed over his ass, petting and rubbing him with gentle circles. T'Challa let out a slow exhale as the worst of the burning faded.

"Ten more and we're done," Erik said, not unkindly. "And keep your ass out, or I'll start smacking your thighs."

"Alpha," T'Challa protested weakly, aware that he was being whiny, but somehow still unable to stop himself.

Erik relented slightly. "I'll go easier on you. But it's over when I say it's over."

 _Only ten more,_ T'Challa told himself, taking a deep breath and gritting his teeth. It still took all of his resolve to offer up his sore ass for further discipline, but knowing that it was going to end soon made it slightly more bearable.

Erik ran his fingers lightly over his backside, which was all the warning T'Challa received before he was spanked again.

This time the strike landed with half the force of the previous spanks, more akin to a firm pat than a slap. It was followed up by a light, soothing caress, Erik's palm rubbing gently over the cheek he'd just spanked to take away the pain.

T'Challa inhaled sharply. To his horror, he could feel himself getting wet, his cock stirring with interest against Erik's thigh.

_Oh no. NO._

If Erik found out that he was getting off on this, he would just die of shame. Mortified, T'Challa desperately tried to focus on anything other than the heat now pooling in his groin.

But to his dismay, Erik still continued to rub and stroke T'Challa's ass in between spanks, spanks which were now barely harder than firm pats. Aiming to minimize the sting so that he wouldn't cause too much pain to his omega, but which had the unfortunate side effect of seriously turning T'Challa on. The rubbing blunted the worst of the sting and spread it around, transforming it into a sort of warmth that was, truthfully speaking, quite pleasant.

If Erik had just finished off the spanking with ten quick, hard swats, T'Challa thought that he could have borne it with quiet dignity. But the cycle of pats interspersed with soothing rubs was unbearable. To be taken in hand so firmly - disciplined and comforted at the same time by his alpha - roused some sort of primal desire within T'Challa that he'd never felt before. His omega hindbrain purred happily, sighing in bliss at this show of strength and concern from his mate. Desire surged to the forefront of T'Challa's mind. He wanted to spread his legs for Erik, to whimper and moan for Erik, to be fucked senseless by Erik and bred full of cubs -

 _Bast._ T'Challa trembled with barely suppressed desire, knowing that he wouldn't be able to control himself for much longer.

"Erik, please stop," T'Challa begged, twisting around in desperation to try and struggle free before Erik could discover how shamefully aroused he was. "Stop! Please!"

But Erik's arm was firmly pressed against his lower back, preventing any escape. He easily manhandled T’Challa back over his knees again, then pinned T’Challa’s arm behind his back for good measure, causing T’Challa to cry out.

"Seriously? I'm not even spanking you that hard. You still have five left," Erik said, his voice becoming stern. "Stop wriggling."

He emphasized the scolding with a slap that landed low against T'Challa's right cheek, one that was much more forceful than the preceding spanks. But he cupped his hand against the area right after, just holding and gently squeezing it until the pain faded.

T'Challa whimpered, a shudder running through his entire body at the mix of pain and spine-tingling pleasure as his alpha soothed the pain away. He was so wet right now that he was frankly surprised that Erik hadn't noticed. Silently, he prayed to Bast for strength, hoping that this would all be over soon. But no matter how hard he tried to turn his mind away, to distract his libido with thoughts of anything else, his mind kept being drawn back towards his current predicament with each fresh swat.

The force of the next blow caused him to jerk forward against Erik's thigh. T’Challa choked back a moan that was just barely disguised as a gasp. The feeling of the delicious friction from his cock grinding against T’Challa’s thigh brought him right to the brink of release.

He spread his legs a little wider, rocking back against Erik’s palm and raising his ass just in time for the next strike. It landed on the curve of his ass, hard enough to make it bounce, followed immediately by Erik's hand stroking and soothing over the sore spot.

The mix of pleasure mixed with the edge of pain was enough to send T'Challa over the edge. A wave of bliss rose within him, rose and crested until it shattered. T'Challa let out a high-pitched moan as he finally gave himself over to the thrills of pleasure running through his body, grinding down against the meat of Erik's thigh. The wet warmth which spread out from where his cock was trapped against Erik's thigh couldn't have been mistaken for anything else.

Surprised, Erik let go of his grip on T'Challa.

T'Challa immediately seized the chance to scramble off Erik's lap, putting as much distance as he could between them. His cheeks were burning with shame as he tried to shield the shameful evidence of his release with his hands.

Erik's dark eyes swept over him, lingering on the damming wet spot on the front of T'Challa's pants. A knowing smirk spread across his face.

T'Challa sniffled. If Erik made a snide remark right now, he would just die of shame. He cowered before Erik, too embarrassed to even look him in the eyes.

"Looks like that wasn't much of a punishment," Erik said, sounding amused.

T'Challa flinched. His bottom lip trembled, and a hot tear made its way down his cheek. He had never felt so mortified before in his life, pride completely shattered, standing before his alpha with his ass stinging and his pants sticky with slick and come.

"Come back here," Erik said.

He was too shaken to even consider disobeying Erik now. A heartbeat later, he found himself pulled over Erik's knees again, face down and ass up in his lap.

T'Challa yelped out loud in alarm, his cry trailing off to a high-pitched squeak of dismay as Erik hooked his fingers in the waistband of his pants and underwear and began sliding them down. His cheeks burned with humiliation as he began to struggle in earnest. Even during the earlier punishment, Erik hadn't made him undress.

"Shh. Calm down," Erik said, smoothing his palm over T'Challa's bared skin. "I'm not mad. The spanking's over."

"Please," T'Challa begged, voice choked with tears. He wasn't even sure what he was begging for. For Erik to let him go, so that he could crawl into a hole and die of shame? Or for Erik to continue petting him, stroking his sore skin gently in a way that had his cock stirring with interest again?

Erik sighed. "If I just wanted to humiliate you, I'd have punished you in front of the council," he said. "Settle down. I just want to check if you're hurt."

Erik ran his palm over T’Challa’s ass, making him tremble. His hand felt wonderfully cool against T’Challa’s burning ass. Omegas usually had a higher body temperature than alphas, and the spanking earlier had really warmed his ass up.

"Mmm. I don't think you're going to bruise," Erik said. "Up."

Erik helped T'Challa to his feet, holding him steady as T'Challa quickly pulled up his pants to re-dress himself. He still couldn't stop sniffling. Erik hadn't even given him a hard time about it, but T'Challa still felt so humiliated that he wanted to die. He stood trembling before Erik, hating himself for his weakness, cursing his lack of control over his new omega body.  

"Are you going to listen to me now?"

T'Challa nodded shakily. “Yes,” he whispered.

Erik's smile widened. "You're gonna behave like a good little omega from now on?"

The domineering way Erik which it that caused a thrill of delight to run down T’Challa’s spine, even though his hackles instantly rose at the phrase _“good little omega”_. He pressed his lips together stubbornly, unable to bring himself to say yes or even to nod, even though he knew that being insubordinate right now would be a _very_ bad idea.

Erik smirked. “Still stubborn as ever, I see. That’s okay. It just means I get to enjoy the pleasure of punishing you again in the future."

T'Challa ducked his head, feeling his cheeks grow hot again.

Erik laughed at the look on T'Challa's face. He reached out to brush his thumb against T’Challa’s cheek, wiping away some of his tears.

T’Challa blinked, taken aback by his surprisingly tender gesture.

“Go get cleaned up. I’ll take you to the doctor,” Erik said.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter contains a medical examination that ends in smut (between Erik and T'Challa).
> 
> You can skip this chapter if medical kink isn't your thing. It's not very important to the plot, haha.

Even after T'Challa had changed into fresh clothes and cleaned away all evidence of his shameful response to the punishment, he still felt a lingering burn of embarrassment in his chest whenever he looked in Erik's direction.

"Is this really necessary? I can see the doctor by myself." T'Challa said to Erik as they were walking down to the medical bay. Truthfully, he wanted nothing more than to be far away from Erik right now. Erik hadn't done anything else to embarrass him, but T'Challa still couldn't even meet his eyes.

"I’m not letting you out of my sight for a minute," Erik said. "You're injured."

"I'm fine!" T'Challa protested, flushing with embarrassment at the reminder of the spanking. _Damn alphas and their overprotectiveness._ "It doesn't even hurt now!"

That wasn't exactly true. The initial sharp pain from the spanking had faded quickly, but his ass still felt a little sore, and he had winced earlier as he was putting on a fresh pair of trousers. T'Challa just wasn't used to feeling pain like that - a shameful, intimate kind of sting that lingered. In the past, the heart-shaped herb would have taken care of that, but now T'Challa just had to suffer.

This was entirely Erik's fault.

Erik rolled his eyes. "I'm coming with you. Stop arguing."

They had reached the medical bay. The automatic doors slid open as they approached.

Doctor Sabra was seated at her workstation. She stood up, eyes widening in surprise at the unexpected sight of the new King and his omega.

"T'Challa says that the transformation is complete," Erik informed her.

"Really? That's quite fast," Doctor Sabra said, looking surprised. "Usually it takes several days. With your permission, I can give Prince T'Challa a full checkup now to determine whether he has developed well and is in good health."

"Thank you, Doctor," Erik said as he made himself comfortable in an empty seat.

"I'm afraid that this examination might be slightly invasive," Dr Sabra warned T'Challa.

T'Challa's eyebrows rose as she handed him a thin paper gown. Wakandan technology was so advanced that invasive physical examinations weren't usually necessary. He couldn't recall ever having been asked to strip for a medical examination.

With some apprehension, T'Challa took the paper gown from the doctor and moved behind a folding privacy screen to get undressed. He removed his robes and undergarments, shivering as the cool air hit his bare skin.

The crinkly paper gown had no back, just a couple of string ties to enable it to be tied together behind his back. T'Challa gulped. His fingers slipped as he fumbled with the ties. His heart was pounding hard with nerves - he _really_ didn't want to undergo some sort of embarrassing physical exam with Erik hovering around him. Yet he knew that the overprotective alpha would not take well to him asking for privacy, even if the only other person who would be seeing him naked was a medical professional.

"What's taking you so long?" Erik asked impatiently.

T'Challa's eyes widened in alarm as a hand drew back the folding screen. Erik poked his head into the changing area.

"I'm almost done!" T'Challa said hastily, trying with difficulty to knot the ties behind his back. He was used to servants doing things like this for him.

Erik raised an eyebrow at him as he watched T'Challa fumble for another few seconds. He sighed. "Turn around. I'll do it."

T'Challa felt extremely exposed as he turned his back so that Erik could assist him, knowing that the backless paper gown would give the alpha an eyeful of his bare ass and back. Even though he knew that Erik had already seen it all, he still couldn't help blushing as Erik swiftly finished tying the string ties.

He squeaked and jumped in surprise as Erik smacked him lightly on his ass.

"Done. Go on," Erik said.

T'Challa was too embarrassed to look Erik in the eye as he brushed past him. He made his way over to Doctor Sabra.

The first part of his examination proceeded as per normal. The doctor performed the usual scans on him, took his pulse and drew his blood. T'Challa winced as the thin needle pierced through his skin. He hadn't received injections in the past, the heart-shaped herb healing those pinprick wounds too quickly for blood to be drawn. This was a new and somewhat unpleasant experience.

"Your test results are all within the normal range for an omega," Dr Sabra informed them as she examined a holographic projection of his ultrasound scans. "I'm pleased to see that your uterus and ovaries have developed normally. It's not unusual for male omegas to experience some complications here, but it doesn't look like there's anything out of the ordinary."

After how much he had suffered during the change, T'Challa was relieved to hear that all was well. He started to get out of his seat, assuming that the checkup had been concluded, but Dr Sabra stopped him.

"Your Highness, we still have to conduct the physical examination. I'll be checking your physical reflexes and your responses to stimulation to see whether it's within the healthy range for an omega. Could you please get on that chair?"

She gestured at a reclining chair with stirrups attached. T'Challa's heartbeat sped up in alarm at the sight of the stirrups. This had to be the "physically invasive" segment of the checkup that the doctor had referred to just now.

T'Challa looked to Erik, wondering if Erik would get him out of this, but of course Erik had a vested interest in ensuring that his omega was healthy and fertile. Erik gave T'Challa a pointed glance, clearly indicating that he was expected to follow the doctor's instructions.

With no other choice, T'Challa got into the reclining chair. He winced at the small jolt of pain as his ass made contact with the padded seat. T’Challa stared up towards the ceiling, trying to calm himself down as he spread his legs. The physical examination hadn't even started and he was already terrified. T'Challa tried to tell himself that this was just an ordinary medical procedure, but his heart was racing as the doctor secured the stirrups around his ankles.

The stirrups were moved apart, spreading his legs wider. The vibranium restraints felt cold against T'Challa's bare skin. He dug his nail into the padded armrests, wishing he were anywhere but here.

Dr Sabra snapped on a pair of white latex gloves. She began to pull up the hem of his gown, exposing his thighs, then his groin.

T'Challa gritted his teeth, hating every aspect of his life right now. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Erik standing off to the side, looking possessive as well as irritated. He knew that if the doctor had been another alpha, Erik would never have permitted this.

The doctor's gloved hand took hold of his limp cock. "Five inches. Hairless testicles," she noted. "This is about average for an adult omega male."

Erik had moved closer until he was right next to T'Challa as well. He placed his hand on T'Challa's shoulder, tightening his grip so that his fingers were firmly pressing into T'Challa's skin. T'Challa could sense the waves of barely suppressed annoyance coming off Erik at the sight of someone else handling his omega in this fashion, even if it was for a legitimate medical reason.

The doctor was unfazed by this. T'Challa guessed that she was probably used to dealing with overprotective alphas. She took an instrument off the tray next to her - a metal speculum, the sight of which made T'Challa's eyes go wide with anxiety.

Doctor Sabra pumped some lubricant onto the speculum, then addressed T'Challa. "We'll need to collect samples of your slick for analysis. Then I'll check your physical reflexes - how your body reacts to being knotted, to see whether you're able to take an alpha's knot without injury. The test will be performed with a standard knotting dildo. Not to worry. Your alpha will be present throughout all this."

T'Challa bit back the automatic retort that he would have vastly preferred it if Erik wasn't present. He had already been embarrassed enough in front of Erik.

T’Challa braced himself as best as he could, but he still couldn’t suppress a sharp inhale as the lubed speculum breached his hole. The metal was hard, cold and unforgiving, so different from the only other time he’d been penetrated - on the day of the Challenge itself, when he had been irreversibly turned.

T’Challa whimpered as the speculum began to widen slowly, forcing his inner walls apart. It was a strange, unpleasant feeling that had him squirming in his seat, wishing that he could force his legs shut. He could feel himself automatically begin to slick up in response to the penetration, even though it was nothing like being fucked by an alpha’s cock - his omega body’s natural response to stimulation and penetration.

Erik still hadn't removed his hand from T’Challa’s shoulder. His fingers tightened against T’Challa’s shoulder, and the firm pressure was surprisingly comforting.

The jaws of the speculum stretched him wide inch by agonizing inch until the doctor was finally satisfied. T’Challa’s breath came out in shallow pants. It no longer felt cold within him, just foreign and somewhat unpleasant. He turned in Erik’s direction, instinctively seeking comfort, and Erik briefly patted him on the forehead.

Something scraped against his inner walls and T’Challa gasped, his toes curling at the unexpected sensation.

“You’re producing a healthy amount of slick,” the doctor noted. “I’ve just taken a sample of it for analysis. Your inner walls also look healthy, and you’ve loosened up well. That’s good. It’s often a concern with male omegas.”

“Mm,” T’Challa gasped out, hoping that it would all be over soon.

T’Challa just barely managed to hold back a sigh of relief as the speculum was slowly taken out of him, leaving him feeling unexpectedly empty. He blushed at the feeling of slick continuing to leak out of his hole, making his cheeks and inner thighs sticky and wet. Now he felt empty and aching, as if something was missing from within him. It was humiliating.

The doctor moved off to put the vial of slick aside. She returned with what looked like a large dildo, at least eight inches long, flared at the tip and with an inflatable knot at the base. At the sight of it, T’Challa’s eyes went wide.

“I’m going to test your ability to take a knot without injury,” Dr Sabra said.

"Must you do that? I’ve already been knotted during the Challenge!” T’Challa protested.

“And you were injured then,” the doctor said patiently. “You experienced some tearing that I had to patch up. But that night have been to the Change itself, which is why I need to verify whether you're able to take a knot. Unless your alpha has already knotted you recently without issue?”

T'Challa bit his lip. "No," he admitted.

"Stop fussing and do what the doctor says,"   Erik said. "It's just a checkup."

The dildo looked huge and extremely intimidating. T'Challa knew that it was about the average length of an alpha's cock, but without the hormonal haze of the Change clouding his kind, the thought of taking that monster into himself was terrifying. How was it ever going to fit? He had no idea how he had managed it the first time. His heartbeat started to race as the large dildo was brought closer and closer towards him -

Erik’s hand suddenly closed around the doctor’s wrist.

“No, don’t touch him. I’ll do that,” Erik said, his voice almost a growl.

To T'Challa's horror, the doctor handed the dildo to Erik without even putting up a fuss.

"Just insert it in," she instructed Erik. "The dildo will stimulate an alpha's thrusting, and the knot will inflate after approximately five minutes. The time taken will vary depending on Prince T'Challa's state of arousal - if he isn't sufficiently aroused, the knot won't inflate at all. After that, the knot will stay locked for approximately five minutes. The instrument will also monitor his body's ability to expand to accommodate the knot without injury and to milk the knot thereafter."

"A high-tech sex toy, huh? Interesting." Erik's eyes gleamed.

"Erik!" T'Challa protested weakly. The doctor's frank discussion of what the dildo would do and the knowledge that Erik would soon be using the - the _high tech-sex toy_ on him had his face heating up with embarrassment. He squirmed, but there was nowhere he could run with his legs spread and firmly secured in the stirrups.

"This won't hurt if you relax," Erik said, giving him a wicked little smirk.

T'Challa could feel the sharp edge of Erik's predatory desire across their mental bond, could tell exactly how much he was enjoying the sight of T'Challa spread out before him and completely at his mercy. It was at once arousing as well as terrifying. Despite his predicament, he could feel his cock twitch with interest, and he was starting to slick up again. The thought of how obvious his arousal would look in his current position, with his gown pulled up to expose his groin and his legs spread wide to expose his hole, had him cringing internally in shame. The shame did nothing to tamp down his arousal. T'Challa was beginning to realize, to his horror, that it actually just heightened the pleasure by making him painfully aware of his body's reactions.

"Just relax," Erik repeated, which was all the warning T'Challa got before the flared head of the dildo was pressing into him.

T'Challa's mouth fell open as the dildo was fed into him inch by agonizing inch. The material of the silicone toy was much more unforgiving and rigid compared to a human cock. It spread his walls wider apart, wider even than the speculum, an aching stretch that had him gasping and futilely trying to squirm away from the intrusion. The pace was slow to give him time to adjust, but he had never been spread so wide apart before, and each shallow thrust had him whining and keening from the burn. Erik was gentle, but the dildo was still big enough to hurt.

It finally bottomed out, the knotted base pressed up against his taint. T'Challa panted, trying to catch his breath as the initial aching stretch resolved into something much more pleasant. He felt warm all over, flush with a heady mixture of arousal and embarrassment as Erik skilfully manipulated the toy within him.

Without warning, the dildo buzzed to life, beginning to stimulate the hard thrusts of an alpha's cock. Even Erik looked somewhat surprised.

T'Challa just about managed to hold back a shriek. He arched against the chair, flushed and panting, as the toy begin to give him an extremely thorough fucking. The lewd sound of the toy thrusting within him in sync with his high-pitched moans filled the room. His cock stood out stiffly in front of him, hard and slick with precome at the tip. He whined and attempted to spread his legs, trying to entice his alpha into jerking him off (he was so close, _so close),_ to work the toy ever deeper into his hungry little hole -

"You're showing a good physical response, Prince T'Challa," the doctor said. "You've loosened up well, and you're producing a very healthy amount of slick."

"That's just great," T'Challa gasped. He was too far gone right now to even feel shame. With the dildo thrusting deep into him, it was as if his mind had shut down. He couldn't think straight. He knew that he had to look like a wreck right now, with tears of desperation burning in his eyes, reduced to a desperate omega panting and drooling on a fake alpha cock. But it felt so good that he just wanted more.

As if he had read T'Challa's mind, Erik began to rotate the dildo within him with each thrust in. This time T'Challa couldn't had back his cries of ecstasy at the delicious friction of the toy screwing into him. Each time the toy nailed his prostate sent a jolt of pure bliss through him, making him see stars. His balls tightened heat pooling in his groin in anticipation of his climax.

"The knotting feature should initiate quite soon," the doctor said.

Almost immediately, T'Challa felt a firm pressure against the rim of his hole. The next few thrusts forced the expanding knot past his sore, stretched rim until it was locked within him, huge and hard against his slick inner walls. It was just what his omega body wanted. He climaxed with a cry, cock coming untouched and spurting white come against his own belly.

He could feel the knot continuing to pulse deep within him, simulating the sensation of an alpha cock releasing come. His own body was clamped down tightly against the fake knot, milking it in rhythmic contractions in time with the aftershocks of his orgasm. He sighed in bliss, feeling warm and relaxed all over after being so satisfyingly fucked and knotted.

Slowly, T'Challa came to his senses as the pleasant fog covering his mind lifted.

A wave of complete mortification swept over him, making his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He couldn't believe he had just come all over himself in front of Erik. Erik,  who was now watching him with a hungry gleam in his eyes.

"Doctor Sabra, please leave. I'm sure you have all the data you need." Erik's voice was low and controlled, but the irises of his eyes were shining gold.

T'Challa, completely enraptured by the look on his alpha's face, barely even noticed the doctor's departure. The minute the doors slid shut, Erik was pulling him in for a hot, fierce kiss.

T'Challa melted into his alpha’s embrace as Erik’s tongue explored his mouth. The alpha’s kisses were hard and bruising, Erik occasionally pausing to nip at his bottom lip, coaxing T’Challa’s mouth open as he gasped.  

 _He’s never kissed me like this before,_ T’Challa thought dizzily. _Not of his own accord._ The only other time they had kissed had been during the Challenge, when they’d both been compelled to do so. Strange, to realize that he had never shared an intimate moment like this with the man that he was about to be married to.

The stirrups around his ankles released as Erik deactivated them with his kimoyo beads. The next moment, Erik was in between his legs. He pulled T’Challa forward to the edge of his seat, so close that they were almost chest to chest. Erik was still clothed, but he yanked his pants down in one swift motion with T’Challa’s eager help.

A small part of T’Challa’s mind was reeling at how fast things were progressing, trying to warn him that this was all just due to hormones, but it was overpowered by the rest of his instincts. His alpha wanted him. His alpha wasn’t angry at him any longer. It all felt so right and natural that he didn’t want it to stop.

T’Challa let Erik arrange himself between his spread legs. He yelped, more from surprise than pain, as Erik tugged the deflating knot out of his stuffed hole. The toy tugged against his stretched rim on the way out before it popped free with a lewd squelch, leaving him empty. His hole was loose and wet, just waiting to be filled.

He eagerly wrapped his legs around Erik, cradling them around his waist, as Erik spread his cheeks apart and lined up his hard cock against T’Challa’s entrance. T’Challa whimpered, tensing up automatically as Erik thrust into him before he forced himself to relax. It felt so different from the fake silicone toy, and the sensation of his alpha’s cock filling him up sent thrills of pleasure through his body, despite the lingering soreness from being knotted earlier. Omega bodies were built to take - and to _enjoy -_ prolonged sessions of sex.

Erik’s thrusts were hard enough that he was pounded back into the chair with each snap of his hips. Sweat beaded on T’Challa’s brow as he panted against Erik’s shoulder, moaning in conjunction with his grunts, hips canting upwards to meet his thrusts.

Erik fondled him in between strokes, hands exploring the expanse of T'Challa's body. He was rough and possessive - flicking T'Challa's nipples, teasing at his cock and balls - the expert motions of an alpha who knew exactly how to manipulate an omega's body to draw out the responses he wanted. Shudders ran through T'Challa's body. He was responding in ways that weren't wholly familiar to him - the sensations sweeping over him in this moment had no exact analogue to whatever he'd felt before as an alpha. In the proximity of his alpha, the sensation of each light touch was intensified - his skin feeling ten times more sensitive than before, his body reacting instinctively in ways that his mind couldn't quite process, moving in sync with his alpha.

Half-drunk on pleasure and lust, T'Challa spread his legs to encourage Erik deeper in. He was moaning through it all, letting out desperate, high-pitched little whimpers that would have him blushing later at the memory of it.

His voice broke at the sensation of Erik's knot beginning to expand within him, pressing relentlessly against the outer ring of muscle. "Please - I want -"

T'Challa moaned long and loud as Erik forced the knot into him in one hard thrust. It was so big - so much thicker than Erik's cock that it had T'Challa squirming, caught and with nowhere else to run. Waves of pleasure rippled outwards from deep within his core, sweeping him under. His eyelids fluttered shut as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, his inner walls clenching around Erik's cock as he was filled with come.

There was the faintest brush of lips against his own.


	11. Chapter 11

T'Challa was lying beside Erik in their shared bed, pretending to take a nap. Erik knew that T'Challa was avoiding him out of embarrassment, but he was willing to let it slide for now given how much T'Challa's pride must have suffered today.

To amuse himself, Erik scrolled through the Wakandan equivalent of Twitter on his kimoyo bead bracelet. The trending topic of the day was, predictably, himself and T'Challa. People were happily gossiping and making memes about the return of their long-lost Prince, his scandalous bonding to T'Challa and the state of their relationship right now. 

Erik rolled his eyes and held back a sigh. 

His first mating with T'Challa had been unintentional, an irresistible biological compulsion on both of their parts. But the same thing couldn't be said for what he'd done with T'Challa earlier in the medical bay. He had  _ wanted _ to fuck T'Challa, and T'Challa had let him. And he couldn't even blame it on the Change this time. He'd had days to get used to T'Challa as an omega. 

The thing was, T'Challa was slowly starting to grow on him. Erik's fantasies of victory had always involved him ruling the world with a pretty omega by his side to spoil and kids to inherit his empire. He had never imagined the omega would be  _ T'Challa _ , but fate had a way of fucking up his plans. 

Erik had hated T'Challa for a long, long time, but now, it was as if everything about T'Challa was designed to appeal specifically to him. The way T'Challa squirmed when he was embarrassed, the bright sheen of tears in his eyes when he was trying to hide his shame or arousal, the way he reacted so responsively to just a little bit of stimulation - it was just  _ hot. _ Of course Erik hadn't been able to resist the sight of T'Challa restrained with his legs spread, all slicked up and just begging to be fucked properly. 

Wait a minute.

It suddenly occurred to Erik that he'd fucked T'Challa  _ right after _ being informed by the doctor that he was healthy and most likely fertile. Fuck! For all he knew, he had already gotten T'Challa pregnant. 

But for some reason, the idea didn't seem quite as repulsive to him now. The thought of T'Challa growing round and cranky with his cubs formed a very appealing mental image. It triggered an unexpected swell of desire and protectiveness within Erik - the urge to protect his mate. To procreate with him.

_ Biology,  _ Erik told himself. _ That's all it is. Biology and hormones _ . 

But despite Erik's best efforts to convince himself that it was all just a side effect of the Change, that he  _ wasn't _ starting to - to fall for his fucking  _ cousin, _ deep down, he knew that he was only lying to himself. 

He had originally been looking forward to making T'Challa suffer, but his resolve had quickly crumbled the few times when T'Challa had showed just a little bit of distress. Listening to T'Challa sniffle and hold back tears while getting a spanking - a spanking which he had totally deserved, and which couldn't even have hurt that badly - had actually been somewhat upsetting for Erik. He had known the exact moment when T'Challa started getting off on it, but even then, he still felt irrationally guilty. Seeing T'Challa in pain or distress was now actively uncomfortable for him. 

It was true that T'Challa wasn't the perfect little omega that Erik had always dreamed of settling down with. He wasn't as submissive as Erik preferred - Erik had always gone for the more traditional, obedient omegas - but he could tell that T'Challa was trying. Cooperating. He had worked to help Erik during the council meeting, had swallowed his pride and submitting to Erik with minimal fuss. In fact, it was  _ because _ T'Challa wasn't by nature submissive which made it all the hotter to watch his internal struggles before he convinced himself to bend over for Erik. 

It was  _ fun.  _

And also, T'Challa was just  _ hot.  _ The Change had done its magic and reshaped T'Challa into a very attractive omega. Just a few subtle tweaks - a lengthening of his eyelashes, a softening of his features, and he was the prettiest omega Erik had ever laid eyes upon, even if he was still recognizably T'Challa. It was like nature had altered T'Challa exactly to suit Erik's tastes, transforming him into the exact sort of omega that Erik hadn't even known he wanted. He triggered all of Erik's possessive, protective instincts. 

Could he really see himself spending the rest of his life with T'Challa? 

It had all seemed so straightforward in the beginning. Pretend to be a happy family with T'Challa, then break the bond the moment the opportunity presented itself, when T'Challa had his first heat. He hadn't planned on getting so attached. Now he wasn't sure if he could bring himself to do it. 

If he wasn't going to break the bond, he would need to somehow talk T'Challa over to his side, to persuade T'Challa to support his goals. Erik had been putting off the talk with T'Challa, but he decided to invite T'Challa to dinner and take it from there. 

Erik looked down contemplatively at T'Challa's prone form lying in the bed next to him.

T'Challa was curled on his side, back towards Erik, huddled under a light silky blanket. It clung to the lines of his body, swelling at the curve of his ass. Erik resisted the urge to pinch it.  

"T'Challa," Erik said instead, nudging him gently. "Get up."

T'Challa didn't react, his breathing shallow and even. He was still pretending to be asleep. 

"I know you're awake," Erik said, annoyed. He could feel it across the mating bond. This time he didn't bother to hold back - he reached across the bed to give T'Challa's juicy ass a satisfying pinch. 

T'Challa yelped, more in surprise than pain, then quickly scrambled to sit up. There was a guilty, anxious expression on his face. He was probably worried that Erik would spank him again. T'Challa immediately began to apologise. "Erik, I'm sorry, please, I was just tired - " 

Erik sighed. "You know I'm not going to punish you for every little thing, right?"

T'Challa blinked at him. From the look of it, he  _ hadn't _ known that. 

"Unless you'd like it that way," Erik added with a smirk. T'Challa had enjoyed the spanking much more than he should have. 

"No!" T'Challa protested immediately, looking mortified. 

Erik snorted. "Never mind. You wanna go for dinner? I want to talk to you."

T'Challa swallowed, still looking slightly nervous. "All right. Let's go."


	12. Chapter 12

T'Challa was still somewhat flustered around Erik, although he gradually relaxed throughout the course of dinner. Soon he was chatting civilly with Erik as if they hadn't tried to kill each other just a few days ago.

"What's this?" Erik asked, poking at his food with a fork. There were several little pyramid-shaped clump of food wrapped in what looked like giant leaves.

"Glutinous rice dumplings," T'Challa said. "Steamed sticky rice dumplings wrapped in bamboo leaves and bamboo twine. The traditional fillings are pork, mushrooms, peanuts, chestnuts and salted duck egg yolks. But my mother sometimes likes to put in winter melon peel too for added sweetness. Here, let me help you."

He took one of the dumplings from Erik's plate. Erik watched as T'Challa's nimble fingers unwound the knotted twine and peeled the bamboo leaves away from the sticky rice. A misty sheen of steam rose up from the unwrapped dumpling. 

Erik noticed that one of the corners of the dumpling was blue. Blue rice - Erik had never seen that before. 

"It's stained with butterfly pea juice," T'Challa explained. "That's just done for the colouring. There's no noticeable difference in taste."

T'Challa's fingers brushed against Erik's as he put the unwrapped dumpling on Erik's plate. Erik felt actual flutters in his chest. It was disgusting. 

"Huh." Erik took a bite of his rice dumpling. It was sweet and savoury, like nothing he had ever eaten before. "It's good."

T'Challa gave him a small, genuine smile, one that made Erik's heartbeat speed up again. "I used to love eating these when I was young."

A strange wistfulness came over Erik then, devoid of the usual rage and hatred whenever he thought about Wakanda. He wondered how things would have been like if he had grown up here with T'Challa. Would he have enjoyed these dumplings as much, or would it have been so normalised as to be completely unremarkable, just another luxury that he  unthinkingly enjoyed without a care? 

T'Challa seemed to pick up on Erik's darkening mood. He said hesitantly, "Erik -" 

"Oh, don't start apologising again," Erik interrupted, holding back a sigh. "I'm not going to blow up at you over every little thing, you know."

"I know," T'Challa said quietly. "I admit, I had been afraid of that in the beginning. I knew you could have tormented me if you really wanted to. My mother and sister were out of their minds with worry. But you haven't been cruel to me. I appreciate it."

Erik shrugged. "I've never hurt any of my omegas before." He had always been indulgent, had enjoyed spoiling his partners with what little he had. Erik had never even spanked anyone else before T'Challa, although it was a commonly accepted method for handling disobedient omegas. Dealing with their tears and drama was too much trouble, and besides, it made Erik feel bad.  

T'Challa smiled. "I was probably stricter with my omegas than you've been with me." 

"Really?" A spark of interest ignited within Erik. He wouldn't have thought T'Challa would be the disciplinarian type. Come to think of it, this was the first time that T'Challa had volunteered any information about his past experiences as an alpha. Losing that part of himself couldn't have been easy for him, even if he hadn't outwardly expressed any resentment after the first fight they'd had. 

Erik could sense T'Challa's regret at the back of his own mind now, thick and bitterly unpleasant. But if not for the mating bond, he would never have been able to tell from T'Challa's outward expression. T'Challa's facial expression didn't waver as he continued, "Yes. I was never cruel either, but I was a bit more firm with my partners. Though they were usually quite compliant, even for omegas - I think they were intimidated by my position as the Crown Prince. Unlike you," he added wryly. 

"The perks of fucking the king," Erik agreed with a leer, just for the fun of watching T'Challa squirm and blush. T'Challa was cute when he was embarrassed, and he was  _ especially _ embarrassed whenever Erik brought up the fact that they’d fucked. More than once.

T'Challa choked as a bit of food he was swallowing went down the wrong way. Erik watched with some alarm - what if something happened to him? - but T’Challa soon regained his composure.

"Erik, I'd like to know your plans as king of Wakanda," T'Challa said, becoming serious. "And - and your plans for us."

Erik considered the question. How much should he reveal to T’Challa? Truth be told, his original plan had gone so far off track that he was now essentially making it up on the fly. Obviously killing T’Challa was now out of the question, and T’Challa would be  _ very  _ unhappy if he mentioned anything that even hinted at world domination, but that didn’t mean that Erik was willing to compromise on his core principles. The current system wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t sustainable. He would soon be making major changes to Wakanda, whether T’Challa liked it or not.

As Erik mulled his answer over, he could feel T’Challa’s anxiety rising as the silence stretched. T'Challa finally got tired of waiting for Erik's response. He said, “Erik, when we first met in the throne room, you told me that you wanted Wakanda's weapons. That you wanted to arm rebellions everywhere, to take over the entire world - "

Erik thought fast. There was nothing to be gained from admitting it, especially not now, when things were just starting to go so well with T'Challa. There was no need to upset his soft-hearted omega by telling him that he still had every intention of building an empire, even if the exact details still had to be worked out. Besides, matters of the state were no longer T’Challa’s concern now. 

Erik put on a wry smile. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said, a half-truth.

T’Challa looked like he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to believe Erik or not. Erik realized that he would need to be more convincing.

“That  _ was  _ my original plan,” Erik admitted. “But that was before I realised exactly how advanced Wakanda's technology was compared to the rest of the world. I've spoken to your scientists and the commanders of your armed forces, and it wouldn't be realistic to expect disprivileged people to be able to use these weapons without prolonged training. And the risk posed by these weapons falling into the wrong hands… I'm reassessing my plans now, in light of this new information." Hopefully this explanation was plausible enough for T’Challa. 

T’Challa did look somewhat relieved, although his brow was still furrowed. "But your goals haven't changed?" 

"No," Erik said bluntly. "There are people out there who need our help - our brothers and sisters who have suffered for centuries under the yoke of the colonizers. They  _ are _ our people, even if they aren't Wakandan, and I'm going to do whatever I can to help them. That's still my goal, and I'm working towards it. 

"But my priorities have changed now," Erik continued, his voice softening unconsciously. "I didn't expect to find myself bonded to you. It wasn't something that I had originally planned for - I was just going to kill you if you didn't cooperate with me. But you  _ have _ been cooperating, and I know you're trying to be a good mate. I think we could work together. If not…" Erik let his voice trail off, but the threat was clear. 

T'Challa thought it over for a few minutes, then to Erik's surprise, he said," I agree."

Erik blinked. He had expected T'Challa to resist, to try and argue for maintaining the status quo like he had during their first meeting, but instead T'Challa was now nodding his head, saying, "You're right. I've had a lot to think about these past few days. It's much easier to see the injustice of the system when you're on the receiving end of it. I know that my father, my ancestors - all of them were wrong. It was wrong to leave you behind in America, and it was wrong to withdraw from the world when there were people out there who needed our help. I don't fully agree with your methods, but I'd like to work together with you to find a  _ peaceful _ way to achieve your goals."

T'Challa placed emphasis on the word  _ peaceful, _ widening his eyes appealingly at Erik as he did so. Sincerity rang through in every word, and Erik could tell that T'Challa truly meant it. 

T'Challa continued, "If you intend to implement any radical changes, you'll need the support of the people. I can help you with navigating Wakanda's internal politics. I understand how the councillors think, and I can help you gain their trust."

"I'll think about it," Erik said, after a pause. Truth be told, the more he considered it, the more attractive T'Challa's offer sounded. T'Challa  _ had _ been helpful during the Council meeting earlier - Erik had let T'Challa take the lead after it was clear that there were some undercurrents running through the surface chatter about flower supplies and wedding decorations. It would also be useful to have someone else - someone he could trust - to handle day-to-day minutiae. 

Also, the way that T’Challa was looking at him right now, all bright-eyed and hopeful, was  _ very _ appealing. Erik half-suspected that T'Challa was doing it on purpose to manipulate him, but still, it was working. He'd always had a weakness for pretty omegas. 

"Erik," T'Challa said, just bordering on the verge of a wheedle. 

"I said I'll think about it," Erik repeated noncommitally. "I'll consider it if you continue to be good. Now finish your dinner."

T'Challa complied immediately with a faint smile on his face. 

_ That manipulative little shit, _ Erik thought to himself with no real anger. His animosity towards his cousin was crumbling by the second, but somehow, Erik found that he didn't mind so much. 


	13. Chapter 13

After their discussion, T’Challa and Erik settled into an easy routine. 

T’Challa still insisted on attending all of the council meetings, half-worried that Erik was going to try something violent, but to his relief, all of the meetings revolved around the discussion of the upcoming wedding. Erik was happy to let T’Challa handle the minutiae of such discussions, probably thinking that it was beneath him to worry about such trivial details. He would occasionally ask T’Challa questions after each meeting about particular undercurrents that he had picked up on, and T’Challa would explain these in detail. Erik never took any notes, but he absorbed all the information which T’Challa told him very quickly, and would often incorporate small details which T’Challa had mentioned into future discussions with the same councillor, to their surprise and delight.

Erik’s intelligence and skill at politics was remarkable. T’Challa could see the makings of a great king in him - if only he would reconsider his more extreme methods. T’Challa still did not fully believe that Erik had given up on his original plan. 

Still, T'Challa found himself being lulled into a sense of security by their day-to-day routine. Erik was easy to live with. He wasn't imposing or domineering like many other alphas, and he gave T'Challa quite a lot of free rein to do whatever he liked on his own, though T'Challa still chose to accompany Erik around to make sure that Erik wasn't trying to start any trouble. Erik was also usually quite amenable to taking suggestions from T'Challa, especially in council meetings - with one notable exception. 

The Merchant Tribe councillor was frowning at T'Challa. "Your Highness, it is customary for the omega bride to wear a wedding dress."

T'Challa bristled. "I'm not wearing a dress."

He was still getting used to his status as an omega. There was a jarring sense of dissonance whenever he looked down at his smaller, slimmer body, and he had to actively hold himself back from contradicting Erik in public or acting in ways which were unbefitting of a well-bred omega. Thankfully, Erik wasn't very particular about his behaviour as long as he wasn't outright insubordinate, for which T'Challa was grateful, but even though he was trying, it was still a struggle for him to fit into his new role. 

Such as wearing a  _ dress.  _

There were mutterings of discontent from the assorted councillors. Even the councillors from tribes which had traditionally been supportive of the Panther tribe looked disapproving. 

Erik took all of this in at a glance, then said, "He'll wear it." 

"But -" 

The glare that Erik shot in his direction was so fierce that T'Challa immediately clamped his mouth shut. Fear spiked within him, followed immediately by annoyance at his body's instinctive reaction - he had nothing to be  _ afraid _ of from Erik. It wasn't like his mate was going to execute him over his choice of attire.  

Was he? 

T'Challa told himself to stop being silly. "Yes, Your Majesty," he murmured to Erik in a suitably deferential tone, casting his eyes downwards. No need to cause a scene in public. He was sure that Erik could be persuaded to see reason later. 

Erik sent everyone else out of the room, then turned to T'Challa. T'Challa immediately widened his eyes appealingly at Erik in the way that he knew Erik liked. 

Erik visibly held back a sigh. "Go ahead." 

"I don't  _ want _ to, Erik. Plenty of omegas don't wear dresses these days," T'Challa argued. "You've never had a problem with me wearing pants before!" 

"Yeah, but that's for informal occasions," Erik said. 

"Council meetings are informal occasions?" T'Challa retorted. He had only worn pants so far around Erik, including to council meetings, and Erik had never complained about it. 

Erik sighed. "You know what I mean. Besides, what's the big deal? Most omegas wear dresses. And it's only going to be for one day. You can wear whatever you like after that."

"I -" The true reason was difficult for T'Challa to admit or even to put into words. "I'll look silly," he said instead, groping for an excuse. 

Erik rolled his eyes. "You'll look great."

T'Challa's heart fluttered at the casual way Erik said it, as if it were just a self-evident truth. He shook that feeling off and tried again, "Erik -" 

Erik folded his arms across his chest. "What's the real reason?" 

Caught off-guard, T'Challa could only look down at the floor, momentarily at a loss for words. Fragments of disorganised thoughts floated through his mind. He hadn't even thought closely enough about it to form a coherent explanation for it to himself - his objections so far had been based on some sort of instinctive, deeply felt aversion to the idea of wearing a dress. 

"T'Challa," Erik prompted. 

T'Challa began to explain haltingly, trying to sort his thoughts into words. "It's just - the dress is such a visible symbol of me being an omega, you know? It's going to be obvious to anyone who looks at me. I know everyone already knows about the transformation, but this is - this is different." 

T'Challa squirmed internally. The explanation sounded irrational even to himself. 

"There's nothing to be ashamed of about being an omega, you know. It's not as if you can help it," Erik said gently.

T'Challa didn't respond. He knew that Erik was right, but it still wasn't something that he could talk himself into believing yet. 

Erik looked thoughtful for another moment. Then he said, "A compromise. You'll wear the wedding dress for our entrance and the ceremony itself. You can change out right after that and wear whatever you like during the feast."

It wasn't what T'Challa had hoped to hear, but he knew that Erik also had to balance the demands from his councillors. Still, he couldn't keep the unhappy frown off his face. 

"Aww, don't pout," Erik soothed. "It's only going to be for one night. No one will think twice about it. You'll look great."

The thought of wearing a wedding dress still made T'Challa quail internally, but Erik's reassurance did make him feel slightly better. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter - wedding!


	14. Chapter 14

  

The wedding dress was a beautiful silvery-white gown made of silk and vibranium. The outermost layer of the gown was made of silk crepeline, a fine, lightweight silk woven through with threads of vibranium to give it an iridescent sheen. Underneath it were various layers of synthetic yumissima thread, a light, silky fabric which gave the gown a floaty, layered appearance that made T'Challa look as if he were gliding on water when he moved. 

The top half of the gown had a low scalloped neckline studded with exquisite jewels. It was daringly low-cut by Wakandan standards, but Erik had insisted upon it and T'Challa hadn't cared enough to argue. He didn't mind showing a bit of skin - it was the concept of wearing a dress that T'Challa hated.

Still, T'Challa had to admit that the wedding dress was, objectively, gorgeous. 

He hated it. 

He stared at the gown in trepidation, then turned to face the bed. His servants had set out his underwear on it. It was nothing like the practical briefs which he usually wore - this was  _ lingerie.  _ A set of lingerie that matched the silvery-white colours of his gown. The panties set out for him were lewdly cut and made of sheer, thin lace that was so flimsy that T'Challa would have been surprised if it could even cover him properly. Lying beside the panties was a pair of sheer, thigh-high white stockings and lace garters. There was no bra accompanying the panties, but there  _ was _ a corset that looked like it would be extremely uncomfortable if he wore it for more than five minutes. 

T'Challa's mouth hung open in horror as he stared at the lingerie. He had never worn anything quite so sexy before. Especially the flimsy scrap of fabric which was just a pathetic excuse for panties. 

_ Bast.  _

T'Challa gritted his teeth and began to strip, tossing his clothes away from him in a fit of pique. Usually he would have folded them neatly away to make it easier for the servants to clean up, but he was too annoyed right now  internally cursing his bad luck at having to wear something so - so distinctly  _ omegan. _

The panties barely covered T'Challa's cock and his ass as he pulled them up over his hips. The lacy edges of the panties cut into the lower centre half of his cheeks, framing it perfectly but leaving the most voluptuous part of his ass bare. It wasn't any better in the front. His cock strained against the fabric, barely kept in place by the flimsy scrap of cloth. 

T'Challa could feel a blush rising in his face at the realization of how exposed he was. He tried to put the thought from his mind and began pulling up the stockings. He fumbled with the garters before managing to clip them on properly. The white lace garters stood out starkly against his dark skin, and also felt uncomfortably constrictive around his upper thighs. 

T'Challa glanced at his reflection in the floor-length mirror. To his chagrin, he looked like the very picture of a bashful omega bride. 

He gritted his teeth and called in the rest of the servants. He didn't want anyone else to see him in this state, but there was no way that he would be able to put on the corset and gown by himself.

 

* * *

 

Erik raised an eyebrow at T'Challa as T'Challa approached him. T'Challa was wearing an exquisite white gown with a long diaphanous train trailing behind him, held up by a pair of servants. He had been all dolled up, his face made up to accentuate his natural features like his long, dark lashes and curving bow of a mouth. Eyes bright and shiny with embarrassment, T'Challa looked every inch the demure omega bride. 

A slow smile spread across Erik's face. "Fuck, baby, you look gorgeous." 

T'Challa squirmed in discomfort and dropped his gaze to the floor. Erik could tell he didn't like the attention. 

"You look really hot," Erik assured him again, partly out of a desire to make him feel less self-conscious, but mainly because it was just the truth. As sexy as T'Challa looked in the long silky gown, he couldn't wait to get him out of it and fuck him till he was a flushed, sobbing wreck. Impulsively, Erik reached behind to give T'Challa's ass a squeeze, admiring the way the gown clung to his omega's shapely ass and thighs. 

T'Challa squeaked and flushed as his ass was groped. "Keep your hands to yourself," he protested. "We're in public." 

"It's no big deal. We're already mated, the wedding is just a formality." Erik moved his hand up to T'Challa's hip, then scooped T'Challa closer to him in one swift motion. T'Challa stumbled on his high heels, momentarily thrown off-balance, and practically fell into Erik's arms. 

Erik seized the opportunity to nuzzle his nose against T'Challa's hair. He even smelled good too - some sort of light floral fragrance that accentuated his natural omega scent. He couldn't get enough of T'Challa when he was all dressed up like this. Erik knew that he would have to find a way to talk T'Challa into dressing fancy more often. 

T'Challa gave him a light shove. "Stop that, you'll mess up my hair and makeup! It took hours to do and I'm not going to sit through that again," he protested. 

"But you're so irresistible," Erik purred. It was a real effort to keep his hands off his sexy omega. 

"We're going to enter the hall soon," T'Challa said, stepping away from him. He didn't seem angry, just fondly exasperated. "Just - just try and control yourself for  _ one _ night."

 

* * *

 

The wedding flew by almost in a blur. 

Their entrance into the hall was greeted by cheers and applause from the assembled crowd. T'Challa's heart was pounding hard, his body tense with nervous energy as he approached the stage, extremely conscious of all the eyes on them. Having been born the Crown Prince and heir to the throne, T'Challa was quite accustomed to being the centre of attention, but this was an entirely different sort of regard. This was the first time after the Challenge that he had appeared so publicly as Erik's omega mate. Now everyone would be looking at him, trying to see if he measured up. Even a small mistake would be enough to fuel gossip for weeks. 

He spotted his mother and sister seated at the front, dressed in their finest ceremonial clothes. Neither of them looked very happy, considering the circumstances behind this wedding. Both of them were too polite to appear visibly displeased, although T'Challa knew them well enough to tell that their smiles were strained. Shuri in particular seemed as if she was just barely holding back an angry snarl. 

T'Challa's spirits dipped slightly. He would have to talk to them again. Hopefully, they would also learn to get along with Erik in time like he had. 

After getting on the stage, Erik and T'Challa intertwined their arms and recited the customary toast to the gods, to their ancestors and to each other. They locked eyes as they each raised a shallow bowl of spiced rice wine to their lips, then drank from their bowls in unison. Thunderous applause rang out through the hall as their union was sealed. 

“Let the feast begin!”

 

* * *

 

In the end, T’Challa opted to wear his gown for the rest of the feast. Erik had given him permission to change out to trousers after the ceremony itself, but T’Challa didn’t fancy going through the entire routine of getting dressed again. It had been excruciating enough the first time around. 

Instead, he sat by Erik’s side for most of the feast, at the high table reserved for the royal couple. The food was magnificent, but T’Challa had been laced so tightly into the uncomfortable corset that he could barely stomach the appetite to take more than a few bites. He nibbled at a few bites of each course as it was served up - braised jellyfish, roasted suckling pig, butterflied chicken in spicy sauce, steamed sweet cakes and so on - while Erik did the lion’s share of the work entertaining their wedding guests, high-ranking officials and courtiers who would stop by one after another to give their congratulations to the newlywed couple. 

At first Erik was charming and gracious, but as the feast dragged on late into the night, his voice was starting to become hoarse and his smile strained.

“How long do we have to keep doing this?” Erik asked T’Challa in an undertone as midnight approached. “This is killing me.” 

T’Challa shrugged. “I think we’ve entertained enough. We can retire to our room if you like.”

Erik’s eyes glinted, and T’Challa stiffened in surprise as Erik placed his hand on T’Challa’s thigh, dangerously high up and close to his groin. He barely managed to stifle a moan as Erik’s fingers began to trace circles in his inner thigh, the soft, yielding fabric offering barely any resistance against his wandering hand.

“Good, because I’ve been looking forward to this all night,” Erik purred in his ear.

T’Challa felt his face grow hot as he hastily crossed his legs together, trapping Erik’s hand between his thighs. He had intended it to be a deterrent to prevent Erik from further molesting him, but Erik seemed to take it in a completely different way. He merely let out a soft, delighted huff of breath, saying teasingly, "Feeling horny too, huh?" 

“I - no!” T’Challa denied immediately, although it was a lie. He had been sneaking glances at Erik throughout the entire evening, unable to tear his eyes away from his handsome alpha. The tux that Erik was wearing showed off his broad chest and muscles perfectly. Erik had even made time between conversations to check on how he was doing, and leaned over to feed him whenever he felt that T’Challa wasn’t eating enough - all of which made his heart flutter. He had been nervous about what would happen after the wedding feast, knowing that he would be expected to consummate the marriage, but as the night passed, his worries faded, leaving behind nothing except burning anticipation.

Erik stood up suddenly, pushing his chair away from the table. “Let’s go.”

 


	15. Chapter 15

The wine that T’Challa had drunk during the wedding feast was now making him a bit unsteady on his feet. The high heels that he wasn’t accustomed to wearing didn’t help. He had to lean on Erik for support. Erik wrapped a muscled arm around his waist, keeping him steady as they walked back to their bedroom, which suddenly seemed much farther away than he remembered.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” T’Challa admitted, resting his head on Erik’s shoulder. He hadn’t liked being the centre of attention, but it hadn’t been so bad with Erik beside him. 

Erik’s lips brushed lightly against his cheek, so briefly that T’Challa almost wasn’t sure whether he had imagined it. Suddenly he found himself being swept off his feet. Erik was carrying him with one arm under T’Challa’s legs, the other supporting his back in a bridal carry. T’Challa looked up into Erik’s eyes, eyes wide with surprise as Erik grinned down at him.

“Erik? Put me down!” T’Challa yelped. He looked around frantically, desperately hoping that no one else had seen Erik literally sweep him off his feet. But thankfully the halls were empty - almost everyone else in the palace was at the feast.

“It’s painful watching you stumble around like that,” Erik said. "Let me." 

T'Challa gave in with barely a struggle. He seemed to be doing a lot of that lately, against his better judgment. But right now he was feeling lightheaded and tipsy and his feet  _ hurt. _ It was simply so much easier to relax and let Erik take care of him. 

T'Challa wound an arm around Erik's neck for support as Erik carried him back to their bedroom. Erik placed him down on the centre of their king-sized bed, and with a sigh of relief, T'Challa kicked the heels off. 

"I'm never wearing these again," T'Challa declared, wiggling his toes. 

Erik grinned. "They look good on you though. Makes your legs look longer." 

T'Challa inhaled sharply as Erik's fingers trailed past his knee, up his thigh. He paused as he reached the garter, then began to roll and snap the elastic band between his fingers, a delighted smirk on his face.

"You're wearing garters? Fuck, that's hot." Erik's voice was rich and low, and the sound of that low purr, coupled with the way that Erik was touching him, brought a hot flush to T'Challa's cheeks. Heat seemed to be simmering under his skin, almost as if he was intoxicated, even though he hadn't even drunk that much wine. 

He knew what Erik wanted, and still he didn't resist. It wasn't as if this was the first time he would be fucked by Erik, but this - this  _ felt  _ different. During the Challenge, he had been completely overpowered and swept away by his unfamiliar omega instincts, and during the medical appointment, he had been strapped down and too horny to think straight. But this would be the first time he would be willingly submitting to Erik. The thought sparked a new frisson of excitement down his spine. 

T'Challa took a deep breath and gathered his courage, then let his legs fall apart as he hiked up the hem of the silky gown up past his thighs. Embarrassment made him feel hot and shivery all over, and he was shaking slightly as he looked up to meet Erik's eyes, which were gleaming a hungry gold. The air between them seemed charged with tension, suffused with the heavy musk of alpha arousal and the sweet scent of omega slick. He was so desperately wet right now that he was sure that his panties were ruined. 

T'Challa's breath hitched as Erik hooked his fingers into the waistband of his panties and began peeling them down, almost agonizingly slowly. He lifted his hips and shimmied to wriggle out of them, but the panties somehow got tangled in with the straps of his garters, pinching at his thighs. 

With an impatient growl, Erik flexed his fingers and ripped the panties all the way off. T'Challa gasped in shock as the fabric tore easily under Erik's enhanced strength. Alarm spiked in his chest, followed swiftly by intense desire - that was just  _ hot.  _

"Bast," T'Challa swore under his breath, faintly humiliated to discover that his voice came out hushed and breathy, almost in a whimper. He was shaking with the effort of holding himself back as his cock was bared to Erik's hungry gaze. Need thrummed through his blood, sharpening his senses, making his skin feel hot and oversensitive. He was burning all over with desire, aching with the need to have Erik fuck into his slick and empty hole. 

T'Challa cried out, back arching off the bed as Erik spread his thighs wider apart and lowered his mouth to T'Challa's cock. He keened as wet warmth constricted around his cock, Erik's tongue swirling around the tip and along the shaft until he was practically seeing stars. Tears of pleasure burned in the corners of his eyes, and he couldn't hold himself back from crying out loud as he thrust up into Erik's mouth, the sound of his breathless moans filling the room along with the obscene wet noises Erik was now making around his cock. 

Erik sucked his cock like a pro, barely gagging even though T'Challa's cock had to have been hitting the back of his throat with each thrust. His tongue expertly flicked around the sensitive head of his cock, accompanied by delicious suction as his mouth tightened around the length of T'Challa's shaft. 

Occasionally, he would pull off almost all the way and lift his eyes to T'Challa's face to watch his reaction. Each time T'Challa would squirm as he tried to restrain himself from begging like a horny slut, but it was futile. His bitten-off pleas soon turned into outright, shameless begging. To his relief, Erik was too impatient to tease him for long, and as his mouth closed around T'Challa's cock again, taking his cock down almost to the base, T'Challa couldn't stifle his long, low groan of satisfaction. 

The sight of his alpha's head bobbing up and down between his spread legs was unbelievably arousing. T'Challa let out a whimper as familiar pressure began to build up in his pelvic area, his balls drawing up and tightening as his climax approached. With a sharp gasp, he stiffened as his cock jerked and began releasing spurts of come into his alpha's mouth. 

Erik swallowed it all, looking as pleased as if he were a cat finishing off a saucer of cream. His beard was wet with traced of T'Challa's come and slick as he pulled off. Erik carelessly wiped it away with the back of his hand. 

T'Challa let his head fall back against the soft pillows as he panted for breath, waves of bliss still thrumming through his body. But the fire burning within T'Challa still wasn't sated even though he had already come once. For some reason, after the transformation, he no longer felt properly satisfied if he came only by having his cock stimulated - it just wasn't  _ enough. _ He was still dropping wet and desperate to get fucked. His hole felt hot and empty, all slicked up but with nothing in it. 

A moan fell from T'Challa's lips, breathless and needy, as he turned his head towards Erik again. "Please - I want -" he begged. 

Erik gave him another rough, sloppy kiss, almost hard enough to bruise as T'Challa eagerly spread his legs again, inviting Erik to slot his body between them. Erik moved T'Challa's thighs apart and bent his knees back almost to his chest so that his pelvis was tilted upwards, his hole exposed. 

The tip of a finger probed against the rim of his hole, and T'Challa groaned, overwhelmed with the feeling of neediness and breathless anticipation. It was just barely enough to soothe away the worst of the almost painful urge to get fucked, but not even close enough to making him feel full. He still felt horribly empty inside, desperately wanting to get fucked hard with a thick alpha cock and knot. 

Erik didn't bother prepping T'Challa for too long. It was clear that T'Challa was already wet and open enough to take his cock easily. T'Challa could feel the broad head of Erik's cock nudging against his entrance before Erik began to push all the way in, heedless of T'Challa's choked-off gasps. 

The feeling of a long thick cock entering him had T'Challa writhing in delight, hands scrabbling against the surface of the sheets for purchase. Shocks of mind-numbing pleasure jolted through his body, setting his nerves afire. His skin felt hot and tight, almost as if he were bursting, so full was he with the feeling of being complete, united with his alpha in the most intimate way. 

As Erik began to thrust hard into him, T'Challa arched up to meet him with each stroke, wrapping his legs around Erik's hips to get better leverage and penetration. The pleasurable burn of Erik's cock brushing against his insides had him moaning without restraint, too far gone into pleasure to recall his initial feelings of embarrassment. He rutted up against Erik, his cock, now completely hard again, dragging against the rippled surface of the alpha's muscled abs as he urged Erik deeper into him. Each time the blunt head of Erik's cock brushed against his prostate  T'Challa let out a breathless moan, toes curling with pleasure as he was fucked hard just the way he liked. 

He could sense through their mental bond that Erik was close to climaxing too as his thrusts became harder and less controlled. It was incredible, the feeling of his alpha's emotions wrapped so tightly around his own that he almost couldn't tell where he ended and Erik began. It was as if they were united in one single body, melded together in a haze of bliss and lust. 

Suddenly, T'Challa could feel Erik's knot beginning to swell within him. The thick base tugged against his rim with each thrust as it began to expand just outside him. With a grunt and a forceful snap of his hips, Erik fucked the knot past the tight ring of muscles. T'Challa cried out loud at the increasing sense of pressure, almost to the point of pain as the knot forced his walls apart, trapping the come and slick within him as Erik's cock jerked and began to release copious amounts of come. 

T'Challa's omega instincts purred in delight at the feeling of the thick knot within him, the sensation of warmth flooding his insides, filling him up perfectly. He had been waiting for this all night. Instinctively, he dug his nails into the scarred, bumpy skin of Erik's back, to ensure that his alpha wouldn't be able to get away before he had properly milked him dry to increase the chances of pregnancy. 

As the rush of hormones began to fade away, T'Challa started to feel that the knot within him was so huge as to be almost uncomfortable. He shifted around to try and get into a more comfortable position, but his squirming just caused Erik to tighten his grip on him. 

"You're not going anywhere yet," Erik said posessively, his eyes still ringed with gold. He rolled T'Challa over until they were both on their sides, face to face, the movement causing the large knot to jostle within T'Challa. T'Challa squeaked in surprise, but the new position did feel much better, especially when Erik hooked his leg over T'Challa's stocking-clad thighs and reached out to cuddle him close to his chest. 

At another time, T'Challa might have protested at being manhandled so suddenly, but he felt so good now that he just wanted to let himself melt into his alpha's arms. Erik's possessiveness satisfied his omega instincts in just the right way - it made him feel safe and wanted.

He snuggled into Erik's arms and let his eyelids fall shut and his breathing even out. Their chests rose and fell in unison as they waited out Erik's knot. 


	16. Chapter 16

Erik woke up before the first rays of sunlight had even filtered through their giant floor-length window. He had always been an early riser, a habit cultivated since he was in the army when he had to wake up at the crack of dawn. He had carried this habit over to Wakanda. The herb seemed to have aided in this, too - he no longer needed as much sleep as before. He could go to bed at one in the morning and wake up refreshed only three hours later. 

Erik opened his eyes and stretched lazily, then turned on to his side, coming face to face with T’Challa.

In sleep, T’Challa’s face looked soft and unguarded. His eyes were closed, his lips were slightly parted and his long dark lashes fluttered as Erik watched him sleep. Was he dreaming? 

A sudden surge of affection washed over Erik as he gazed upon the soft, dreamy expression on the sleeping omega’s face. They had slept so late last night after multiple rounds of sex that T’Challa had to be exhausted. No wonder he was sleeping so soundly. 

As if magnetically attracted to his peacefully sleeping mate, Erik placed his hand over T'Challa's smooth, dark thigh. He began to pet T'Challa gently, watching closely for his reaction as he stroked upwards in small circles until his hand was just at the crease between T'Challa's ass and thigh. 

T’Challa didn’t stir, but his eyelashes fluttered briefly before his breathing evened out again. 

Erik could feel a wicked smile spreading slowly across his face. God, T'Challa was just perfect like this, looking so soft and vulnerable, just begging to be ravished by a big bad alpha. He wondered just how much fun he could have with T’Challa before he started to wake up.

Erik scooped T'Challa close towards his own chest with one arm carelessly thrown around T’Challa’s shoulder. T'Challa himself be rolled towards Erik, pliant and unresisting. He inwards to nuzzle his face into his alpha’s chest, instinctively seeking Erik’s scent and warmth. 

Another wave of soft affection washed over Erik. That his mate was starting to become so receptive was a good sign of a strong bond. He continued to stroke T'Challa's thigh, then moved his hands up to knead and squeeze at T'Challa's firm, round ass, taking care not to apply too much force. He didn't want to wake T'Challa up too early. Let his tired mate sleep for a while longer - he could have as much fun as he wanted with T'Challa even while he was asleep. 

T'Challa didn't really react to the groping, except for making a small muffled noise, almost but not quite like a moan. His legs parted slightly, allowing Erik to slip his finger between the cheeks of his ass. He was still naked from last night's activities - Erik hadn't let T'Challa get out of bed to change into pajamas, and T'Challa had been too exhausted last night to insist on it. 

T'Challa let out a small sigh as Erik started rubbing the pad of his finger over the tight clench of his little hole. He was still tight and dry, but as Erik continued to stimulate him, he could feel growing wetness beneath his finger as T'Challa's body began to slick itself up. It was hot. 

T'Challa squirmed, his breath beginning to quicken into short little pants. His hole was now slick and loose enough for Erik to slip one finger in comfortably. T'Challa's inner walls were velvety smooth, rippling around his finger as his body squeezed down against the sudden intrusion. 

"Erik? What are you doing?" T'Challa's voice was hazy with sleep and disorientation. His eyes were still half-closed, his dark lashes fluttering as he tried to blink the fatigue away. 

"Morning, babe," Erik purred. He was a little disappointed that he had woken T'Challa up so soon. "Just relax." 

Erik crooked his finger within T'Challa, rubbing against his inner walls. Then, judging that T'Challa was already relaxed enough, he squeezed in a second finger beside the first. T'Challa's body opened up easily for him, stretching to accommodate his fingers as Erik spread him open. 

"What -  _ ohh." _ T'Challa squirmed deliciously as Erik began to finger-fuck him.

The urge to knot his mate was rising to the forefront of Erik's mind. With difficulty, Erik slapped it down. He had knotted T'Challa enough times on their wedding night that he had to be quite sore, even if T'Challa was being wonderfully cooperative right now. Each thrust of his fingers made T'Challa squirm and arch back, trying to get more of Erik into himself. Erik teased at his prostate with the tip of his fingers, rubbing at that pleasure spot as T'Challa began to let out breathless little moans.

"Hook your leg over me," Erik directed, and T'Challa obeyed, flushed and trembling as he lifted his left leg and hooked it over Erik's hip. With his legs spread even wider, Erik was able to penetrate him even more deeply than before, thrusting his fingers inside T'Challa all the way to the base where his fingers met the palm. Idly, Erik wondered just how much more T'Challa could take up there. Three fingers, definitely. Four fingers?  _ Five? _

Erik pushed that distracting fantasy out of his mind and focused all his attention on wringing more pleasure out of T'Challa's body. T'Challa was getting so worked up that he was starting to hump against Erik's body, his cock grinding into the lower half of Erik's abs. Most omegas could come from penetration alone, and there was a school of thought that omegas shouldn't be allowed to come by any other means and should be trained to come only on their alphas' cocks, but Erik didn't believe in that. He had always liked his omegas' intense reactions when he stroked their cocks or clits. Why deprive them of that additional pleasure? 

It wasn't really necessary with T'Challa, though. T'Challa came more quickly than Erik had expected, just by Erik's fingers and by grinding against him. A soft gasp fell from his lips, and then he was clenching tightly around Erik's fingers, his inner walls rippling as come spurted out of his cock and onto Erik's belly. It was thin and watery, sterile like a typical omega's come. 

Feeling extremely satisfied with himself, Erik pulled his fingers out of T'Challa with a wet, lewd noise. T'Challa looked, if possible, even more embarrassed. He tried to wipe away at the streaks of come painted on Erik's abs, but Erik pushed his hand away. 

"I'll clean up later," Erik said. "You go back to bed." 

"You're getting up so early?" T'Challa asked. 

"I don't need that much sleep," Erik replied. 

T'Challa flushed. "...You're really leaving?" he asked in a small voice. 

Erik considered it. He  _ had _ wanted to exercise and get some reading done as he usually did every morning, but that was before he had known that T'Challa wanted company. T'Challa probably didn't like sleeping alone. Maybe he wanted to cuddle? Erik thought it was cute.

He got back in bed and wrapped an arm around T'Challa. There would be some stains, but the servants could always clean up the sheets later. 

T'Challa snuggled up to Erik immediately, the tension draining out of his body. He tucked his head under Erik's chin, his soft, warm breaths tickling the front of Erik's chest. 

Erik closed his eyes. Even though he wasn't tired, he was so warm and comfortable that he soon found himself drifting back into sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are going well... for now. Haha.


	17. Chapter 17

When T'Challa finally woke up from his snooze, it was close to ten. Usually he didn't sleep in so late, but last night's activities had been more exhausting than he was used to. 

Erik's side of the bed was empty. The faint, lingering scent of his mate told T'Challa that he had probably left not too long ago. T'Challa knew from personal experience just how many duties the King had to do, but he was still somewhat crestfallen to find himself alone - and then, mortified to realise just how dependent he now was on Erik's company. Things just didn't feel  _ right _ when his mate was away, like there was a hole in his life which needed to be filled. 

Omegas being needy was such a stereotype, and T'Challa was chagrined to discover that he was fitting it perfectly. Even being away from his alpha for a brief moment made him feel antsy and uncomfortable. In theory, these feelings were supposed to get less intense as their mating bond settled, but it had been over a week since their bonding and he still wanted Erik as badly as ever.

T’Challa gritted his teeth. _Bast._ It wasn’t dignified to be pining after Erik the moment he woke up. 

Would he seem too clingy if he went searching for Erik right now? 

After some internal struggle, T'Challa caved. It was only natural for a newly bonded omega to want to stay close to his mate. No one would think any less of him for it. And it would be good for them to be seen presenting a unified front together in court.

* * *

 

Erik was pleasantly surprised when T’Challa entered the throne room barely half an hour after the council meeting had begun. He hadn’t really wanted to leave T’Challa earlier, but he also had other duties to attend to. It had been a real struggle just now to force himself to leave T'Challa when he was all snuggled up close to Erik. Erik hadn't thought he would be seeing T'Challa until the afternoon, at least. 

To an outsider, T’Challa appeared to be quite put together. He was dressed in his usual neat robes, and not a single hair was out of place. But beneath the facade, Erik knew T’Challa well enough to tell that T’Challa had arrived in a rush. There were faint creases in his clothes, as if he had dressed in a hurry, and his eyes were still somewhat heavy-lidded with sleep.

Erik preened internally. The knowledge that his mate wanted him badly enough to seek him out even when he was obviously still tired was very flattering to his ego. It was cute. 

He called for a recess earlier than he had planned, after barely an hour had passed. There were many things on his agenda that had yet to be discussed - ramping up weapons production gradually enough that it wouldn't be too noticeable, expanding their War Dog presence in other countries, speaking with the individual representatives from each tribe to evaluate which tribe would be cooperative and which tribe was likely to oppose his master plan - but T'Challa's presence complicated matters. Erik couldn't very well have these discussions while T'Challa was right there in the same room, not after he had already agreed with T'Challa to work towards a non-violent solution. Right now, T'Challa was very helpful when it came to building rapport with the councillors, but his suspicions would definitely be roused the moment that Erik even hinted at stepping up weapons production.

It was a delicate task, trying to feel out how much support he was likely to get for his plan even though he was unable to explicitly discuss anything concrete to avoid making T'Challa suspicious. Erik knew that there would soon be a breaking point where he would no longer be able to keep T'Challa in the dark about the full extent of his goals. Probably very soon. But his mate was so  _ supportive _ right now, all sweet and cooperative and eager to help. Erik didn't want to ruin it. He could put the inevitable argument off for just a few weeks more. 

Erik beckoned for T'Challa to approach him, not even bothering to wait until the room was fully cleared up. 

T'Challa was barely suppressing a smile as he walked up to Erik. Erik reached out a hand and took him by the wrist, then gave him a light tug so that T'Challa was stumbling forward right into his lap. 

"Erik!" T'Challa protested, but he was smiling as he made himself comfortable in Erik’s lap. 

The door swung shut behind the last straggler, W’Kabi, as he left the room, and the two of them were now properly alone.  

"Missed me that much, baby?" Erik teased. He nuzzled his nose into the top of T’Challa’s head, inhaling the soft scent of his omega. T’Challa had showered recently, and his hair still carried the faint fragrance of his jasmine-scented shampoo. 

T’Challa shook his head in denial, but Erik could sense his delight filtering through their mating bond as T'Challa allowed himself to be cuddled close. Delight, mixed with an undertone of desire. 

"You wanna fuck again? Damn, babe, you're really insatiable." Not that Erik was complaining. Was there anything better than having a horny mate who constantly wanted to fuck? He slid his hands beneath T'Challa to support his weight, seizing the opportunity to grope T'Challa's ass as he did so. 

T'Challa squirmed at the sensation, and in the process his ass ground down against the tops of T'Challa's thighs. The delicious friction made Erik's cock stiffen with interest. His mate was really irresistible, especially when he spent practically the entire duration of the meeting giving Erik bedroom eyes. 

Not wanting to wait a moment longer, Erik hooked his fingers in the waistband of T'Challa trousers, shifting T'Challa in his lap so that he could tug them all the way down. He was already slick enough that Erik knew he could sit T'Challa on his cock without too much prep. 

T'Challa wrapped his arms around Erik's neck for support, letting out a breathless little whimper as he took Erik's hard cock all the way into himself. Erik spread T'Challa's cheeks wide with his palms, and T'Challa bit his lip as began to ride Erik's cock, bouncing up and down in his lap. 

Erik leaned back against the throne, basking in the feeling of tight wet heat around him, the sensation of having an eager omega riding his cock. He couldn't have asked for a better mate. 

* * *

 

“You seem quite close to T’Challa now,” W’Kabi observed.

Erik suddenly recalled that W'Kabi had still been in the room when he was flirting with T'Challa earlier. He shrugged noncommittally. "Turns out that he's a pretty good consort," Erik admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He didn't see the point in denying it. There was nothing to be ashamed of, anyway - it was only natural for a newly mated couple to be very…affectionate. 

"Well, I'm glad to see you two getting along," W'Kabi said. “But how is this going to affect our plans? Because I can’t see T’Challa being on board with this.”

W'Kabi gestured at the world map spread out on the table in their secret war room. Colour-coordinated markers had been placed neatly on the surface of the map to highlight the areas where their War Dogs had the most influence, the areas that would make the best military targets, as well as the areas that were most likely to have grassroots support for an armed revolution. The goal was to seed a few volatile places with enough weapons and operatives to make revolution probable, if not an outright certainty, without getting directly involved. Just a small nudge here and there in the right places could spark a revolution under the right conditions. Erik had wanted to keep direct intervention to a minimum, at least at the beginning. 

Erik frowned down at the map. W'Kabi had identified his one weak spot. When T'Challa had previously asked him about his plans, he had managed to placate T'Challa with vague assurances of working together. But soon he would start asking more questions, and it would become clear that they had very different visions of the future. Erik couldn't see it turning out well. 

Erik held back a sigh. "I told him that we'll try working towards a peaceful solution first."

W'Kabi raised a sceptical eyebrow at Erik. His eyes flicked over the map setting out their military strategy. 

Erik winced, feeling an uncharacteristic little stab of guilt spike through his chest. "I know, I know. T'Challa is my problem. I'll handle him." 

W'Kabi said, "Have you considered it, though? T'Challa's proposal?" 

"You're getting cold feet now?" 

"Not exactly," W'Kabi said. "For too long we've been hiding in the shadows, watching and waiting when we could have done so much  _ more. _ We can build the greatest empire the world has ever known, usher in the longest era of peace and prosperity never before seen on this planet. But at what cost? Revolution involves bloodshed, yes. But I would still prefer to avoid that as far as possible. If T'Challa has a better proposal - " 

"He doesn't actually  _ have _ any better ideas, as an alternative to outright conquest," Erik said dismissively. "He brought up some suggestions about outreach and donations. Just temporary fixes. Nothing that would lead to real structural change."

"You're right, I don't think that would really work," W'Kabi said, a frown appearing across his face. "I think he just doesn't really understand how bad it is out there, not in the same, visceral way that we do." 

"Like I said, T'Challa is my problem," Erik said. "I'll bring this in a way that won't upset him too much. He'll come around -" 

Suddenly, Erik felt a jolt run through his entire body, as if he had been shot. He inhaled sharply, putting a hand to his chest. 

"What's wrong?" W'Kabi asked, looking alarmed. 

Erik's heart was pounding fast. There was a strange, warm feeling throughout his body, as if fire was spreading through his veins. Heat prickled across his skin. He had never felt like this before.

Had he been poisoned? 

Anger and fear spiked within Erik, but already the unexpected flash of heat was fading, retreating to the back of his mind - a hot, pulsing warmth, surrounding the mental link he shared with T'Challa. 

_The_ _mating bond._

"T'Challa's in heat," Erik said aloud, as realization struck. 

"So fast?" W'Kabi looked surprised.

Theoretically, it could happen at any time, although most omegas went into heat quite rarely, and only when the conditions were particularly good for breeding. It wasn't uncommon for omegas to go up to years or decades without experiencing heat, and some omegas never even went into heat at all. That T'Challa had gone into heat so soon after their bonding was a very good sign. 

Erik stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back from the desk. "I'm going to him," Erik said. Excitement sparked in his blood. He could feel T'Challa calling out to him cross their mental bond, an irresistible siren call towards his bond mate.

His plans temporarily forgotten, Erik rushed out of the war room in search of T'Challa. 

 


	18. Chapter 18

_Some time ago…_

 

T’Challa really hadn’t expected his sister to react so badly to the improvement in his relationship with Erik.

She had caught him coming out of the door after the council meeting and then led him to her lab. Once the door was shut and they had a bit more privacy, she immediately turned to him with a worried frown. 

"Last night," she began, then swallowed and grimaced. "Did Killmonger - did he hurt you?" 

T'Challa blinked. "What? No, of course not." Their wedding night had been perfectly enjoyable. Even the mere memory of it made his face heat up a little. T'Challa squirmed internally. He _really_ didn't want to be having this awkward conversation with his sister, of all people, but he realised that it was only natural for her to be worried. The two of them hadn't exactly started off on the right foot. 

Shuri still looked sceptical, so T'Challa rushed to reassure her. "He's good to me, Shuri. He treats me well. In fact, he's been quite a good mate."

Shuri's eyebrows went all the way up. 

"A good mate?" she said incredulously. "You know, you don't have to lie to make me feel better. No one can listen in on us when we're here, I've made sure of that. If you're worried that he'll somehow find out what we've been discussing and then take it out on you -" 

"Wait, I'm not worried about that," T'Challa said quickly, now feeling somewhat alarmed. "I really do mean it."

"He's killed almost a hundred people! Have you forgotten? He's a violent, dangerous man, a threat not just to Wakanda but to the entire world! Remember what he announced when he first arrived here? He wanted to steal our vibranium, to set up some sort of crazy Wakandan empire -" 

T'Challa winced. "People change. I know Erik hadn't exactly been an angel in the past, but we've talked about it, and he told me that he'd work together with me instead of going through with his original plan.

But he was acutely aware of just how painfully unconvincing this would sound to Shuri, and with a jolt, he suddenly recalled that Erik hadn’t _actually_ promised not to carry through with his original plan. “I’ll consider it, if you’re good” wasn’t exactly an ironclad promise. He really needed to sort this out with Erik soon before Erik did anything disastrous. 

Shuri looked dismayed. "This isn't like you, T'Challa! I can't believe you'd fall for such a  lame excuse." Her eyes were bright and calculating now, and she was looking at him with a coldly evaluative expression on her face. It was the same look that she usually wore when she was trying to solve a particularly tricky problem. She continued, watching carefully for T'Challa's reaction, "I think Killmonger is taking advantage of his bond with you. He's using you for his own ends."

“He is _not!”_

T'Challa immediately bristled, instinctively becoming defensive at the insult to his _mate_ and his _bond._ Unconsciously, he clenched his hands into fists and bared his teeth, adrenaline flooding through his body. 

Horrified, T'Challa slapped down the instinctive surge of anger and defensiveness in his mind, forcing himself to relax as he reminded himself that his sister was just concerned for him. It helped that Shuri was a beta, and his new omega instincts didn't interpret betas as being inherently threatening. But with a sinking feeling, he realized that he had come to his senses just a moment too late. From the look on Shuri’s face, she was definitely going to take this as evidence that he was just too quick to jump to Erik's defence. That Erik had… bewitched him, somehow. 

Sure enough, Shuri's analytical expression had morphed to one of outright dismay. A wounded look appeared in her eyes, even though she quickly schooled her expression into one of studied neutrality again. 

T'Challa's heart twinge with guilt, watching Shuri cover up her emotions even when she was obviously upset. He hadn't wanted to hurt her, but at the same time, a small, disloyal voice in his head whispered that _it was her own fault, if only she'd just stop_ _meddling_ _in - in whatever was going on between himself and Erik - if only she’d just let them be..._

His thoughts were interrupted by her net question. Shuri was looking at him shrewdly, her eyes narrowed. “No? You’re telling me you aren’t even a little bit afraid of him? He _is_ your alpha, after all. You aren’t scared of what he might do to you? He’s never threatened you? Never hurt you?”

Unbidden, the memory of Erik spanking him rose to the forefront of T'Challa's mind. T'Challa swallowed, feeling his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. He was very glad that Shuri had no way of seeing the flush spreading across the surface of his skin. The punishment hadn't hurt that badly, and Erik had done nothing worse than threaten him with further spankings. Which, if T'Challa was honest with himself, wasn't exactly _unwelcome,_ but T'Challa was certain that Shuri wouldn't see it that way. 

"Of course he didn't hurt me," T'Challa lied quickly, suddenly aware that he still hadn't answered Shuri's question. But he had hesitated for just a moment too long, and Shuri's expression was now changing from dismayed to horrified. 

"He hurt you!" Shuri exclaimed. Her eyes were bright with anger now. 

"Shuri -" T'Challa protested, but it was futile. Once Shuri had set her mind to something, she was rarely deterred. 

"You're still trying to shield him! He's got you wrapped around his finger!" T'Challa had never heard Shuri sound so angry before.

She continued, "I know it's not your fault. You've been blinded by the bond. But don't worry, I've found a way to fix that." 

"What?" T'Challa said, alarm spiking across his nerves. His heartbeat spiked as he began to back away, but at that same moment, the white mannequins in Shuri's lab suddenly came to life, the same mannequins on which he had once tested his new Black Panther suit in what felt like a lifetime ago. 

The mannequins moved in unison to block his way, working in tandem in some eerie parody of human motion. Their actions were inhumanly coordinated, smooth and silent. Somehow Shuri was controlling them remotely. He hadn't even known that they could do that!

T’Challa backed away from them warily, holding his hands up defensively. He had never missed his powers as acutely as he did at this moment. Compared to when he had the powers of the heart-shaped herb running through his veins, his reflexes were now dulled and his motions slow and laggard as he was backed into a corner by the faceless, emotionless mannequins. And his _mind_ \- although the adrenaline spiking through his veins seemed to make his senses sharper, his thoughts were now racing in a panicked spiral as fear began to settle over his mind. 

He wasn’t _afraid_ of Shuri, exactly. He knew that she would never hurt him, but he really didn't want to find out exactly how Shuri intended to break his bond. With a jolt, T’Challa suddenly realized that despite all his initial reservations, he couldn't imagine living without Erik now. The thought of losing his mate sent a sharp stab of primal fear through his chest. How much of it was due to his omega instincts, T'Challa didn't know, but all he knew for certain was that he didn't want their bond to be broken. Every cell in his body cried out in rejection of the thought. 

T’Challa’s breathing was quick and shallow now, panicked little pants escaping him as he swivelled his head about, desperately seeking an escape route. But the only exit to the lab was sealed shut, and the mannequins were now closing in on him, with no trace of mercy on their still, emotionless faces. 

Somehow, through the boiling storm of anger and panic whirling in his mind, T'Challa managed to pull himself together enough to try to talk some sense into Shuri again. "Shuri -" he began, trying to keep his voice even and placating.

But the next few words he was about to say died on his lips as the mannequin closest to him reached out and grabbed him by the arm, its cold fingers of vibranium-ceramic alloy closing around his right wrist. Another one took hold of his upper arm, and yet another one had somehow managed to sidle behind him when he was distracted. That mannequin wrapped its arms tightly around his waist, pinning him into place and trapping T’Challa within its cold embrace. 

No matter how much T'Challa tried to get away, he couldn't get squirm free from the cold and unforgiving arms of the mannequins. Their grips on him were precisely calculated to exert just the right amount of strength, just sufficient to restrain him without causing any serious pain or bruising. T’Challa’s knowledge of martial arts was no help hereeither - the mannequins seemed to have been perfectly programmed to counter his every move. Clearly this was Shuri’s doing. She was the only one with sufficient knowledge of his fighting style and the technical capabilities to do such a thing. T’Challa would have showered her with praise for this incredible feat of engineering, if it wasn’t being used against him right now.

"When you're back in your right mind later, you're going to thank me for this,” Shuri declared. Her mouth was set in a tight line of determination, and fire was blazing in her eyes. With a sinking feeling, T'Challa realized that there was absolutely no way that he could get out of this. 

From the pocket of her lab coat, Shuri withdrew a small, inhaler-shaped device. "It took me a long time to come up with this formula, but I eventually found a way to trigger your heat. You're going to stay here in this lab for the duration of your heat, _away_ from Killmonger. He won't be able to renew your mating bond during your heat. After that, your bond will break naturally, and then you'll be free."

"No!" T'Challa began to struggle in earnest now, but the mannequins holding him in place were too strong. One of them clamped its hand over his mouth, cutting off his air flow as Shuri approached. 

T'Challa held his breath for as long as he could, but he only had an average human's loling capacity now, and he couldn't keep it up for more than a minute. His lungs burning painfully, he inhaled sharply, taking in a quick, desperate gulp of air. 

Shuri activated the inhaler device, sending a sheen of mist into T'Challa's face. A strange, salty-sweet scent hit his nose, unlike anything he had ever smelled before - something that carried the salty notes of sea brine mixed in with soft vanilla and the slightest hint of caramel crème. Immediately, a soft haze settled over his mind. His pulse began to raise, and T'Challa could feel himself getting uncomfortably warm under the collar as blood rushed to the surface of his skin. His struggles ceased and he went limp in the mannequins' arms. 

"They'll look after you for the duration of your heat," Shuri said, nodding at the mannequins. "I know you're upset right now, and I'm sorry that it has to come to this. But you'll thank me later when you're back in your right mind."

T'Challa barely reacted. He was too distracted by the fiery heat now simmering under his skin. It felt as if he were burning up from the inside. A sheen of sweat broke out across his skin, dampening the front of his robes. His clothes felt uncomfortably restrictive and _wrong,_ and he began to undo the buttons on his robes, all traces of modesty gone from his mind. He didn’t even register it when Shuri winced and then backed out of the lab, leaving him alone with the mannequins.

As if on cue, the mannequins released him and backed up a few steps, forming a protective circle around him. T’Challa ignored them. They were inconsequential. They weren’t important right now.

Something was missing. 

 _Someone_ was missing.

His _alpha._ Where was his mate? 

A keen of want bubbled up through T’Challa’s chest, slipping past his lips even as he tore his clothes off, trying to get as much cool air as he could against his too-warm skin. Fire burned through his veins, setting his nerves alight with frustration and arousal. He fell to his knees on the hard tiles of the lab, alone and forsaken. 

He was in heat right now, and his mate wasn’t here.


End file.
